


Post Traumatic Repair

by Detective_Animator



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: After Kilgrave, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Cigarettes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jessica is not in a good place, Kilgrave is a walking trigger, Machine Metaphors, Manipulation, Mentions of attempted suicide, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Panic Attacks, Post-Bus Crash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Series, References to Alias (Comics), Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6495688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective_Animator/pseuds/Detective_Animator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's gone, he's dead.</p><p>But she's broken, parts don't work how they should. Like code wiped clean, she doesn't know how to operate. She's a fragile machine who needs to be rewired to think normally again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her body feels stiff.

There's a slow ache in her joints, a stiff feeling that makes her walk mechanically. Her body is numb, moving on instinct to somewhere, anywhere.

She has to get away.

She continues to move, her feet barely lifting off the ground as she stumbles along, taking short, little steps.

It's cold, there's a chill in her heart, ice in her chest. Her cheeks sting from the bitter chilly wind, and her eyes water slightly.

She's not sure if it's from the cold, exhaustion, or relief.

She guesses it's a mix of all three.

She wants to turn back around. She wants to see if he's actually dead. She wants to _go back to him._ Just like he told her to.

But she keeps moving forward. She can't go back. She can get away.

It's after maybe an hour of walking, distant and detached from her own body, that she finally fumbles into an apartment complex.

She needs help. She needs Trish.

She ignores the doorman's sound of surprise when she walks in, passing him without a word.

She stumbles into an elevator, her fingers shaking as she presses the correct button.

It leaves a smear of blood on the plastic covering, and she stares at it. Her eyes glazed in an unseeing, trance-like stare. Her mind is far away.

It takes her a few moments, but she registers the sharp _'ding!'_ of the elevator, followed by the doors sliding open.

She shuffles out, hands hanging limply at her sides. Her fingers twitch, and she keeps moving forward until she's right at the door.

She's not sure how long she just stands there. She doesn't know what to do. After months of being told to _'do this'_ and _'do that'_ or _'no, don't do that, Jessica'_ she started to lose sense of how to operate without being told.

She's been reduced to a machine, a receptacle for code and data, capable of only doing what she is told. Now, without the coder putting in his commands, she is empty, incapable of functioning.

Her hand shakes as she raises it, hovering just inches from the door. Before she can lose her nerve, talk herself out of it, she knocks.

Her knuckles bump softly against the cold metal door, sending a pinprick sting up her arm.

It's soft, too soft, she can barely hear it.

She tries again, this time managing a louder knock. The pain shoots up her arm again.

It feels good, she decides. It lets her feel, lets her know she's alive.

Then she panics. An irrational flare of fear clutching her tightly.

She feels panic claw at her throat out of nowhere, choking her. She doesn't know why she's panicking, but her heartbeat picks up, her body shakes, and she finally chokes out a word.

"Trish." Her voice is hoarse, scratchy. It hurts to speak. He told her not to speak. She feels sad for betraying his order. She's afraid. She feels worthless and stupid and _'God damn it, she couldn't follow one fucking order correctly?'_

Her fist hits the door again, even louder, almost deafening to her, and she chokes out Trish's name again. Tears prick at her eyes, and it's getting harder to breathe with each long passing second.

She's panicking. She has no idea why, but she's panicking.

She's terrified, scared that he'll come back, or find her.

"Trish, please..." She gasps, her knees shaking. She feels like she's going to collapse, her legs feel weak, and just as she falls, the door swings open, and she caught in a pair of warm arms.

She flinches back, drawing in on herself, hitting the ground hard. She looks up at Trish, her best friend's face is shocked, lips parted in surprise. Her blonde hair is messy, and she looks like she just woke up.

"Trish..." It's the only thing she can say. She's forgotten how to speak, but she knows that one word. There's a brief pause, neither of them move, until Trish seems to snap out of whatever funk she's on and bends down to help.

Trish's fingers brush her shoulder, her arm, and she gently moves to help her up. Jessica complies slowly, and Trish is so warm and she smells like vanilla and coconut and cinnamon.

Trish doesn't say anything and helps her to the couch, gently moving her down onto the cushion. Jessica shivers slightly, missing the warmth of Trish's body.

"Shit, Jess, what-" Trish seems to still be trying to catch up. "Okay, just, I'll be right back. I'm going to go get a towel to wash your hands off. Alright?"

Jessica nods her head, but she's confused. Why do her hands need washing off? Her eyes flicker down to stare at them, and she stares in mute shock at the blood on her hands.

Oh, right. She forgot about that.

She doesn't have much time to process it though, because before she knows it, Trish's fingers gently grab her hands. They're warm and soft against her cold skin, and she relaxes at the soft touch. She doesn't winch when the alcohol stings her cut knuckles, or complain when Trish starts to fuss over her.

Trish doesn't ask what happened, and instead helps her out of her clothes-no, not her's, never her's-and dresses her in an oversized shirt and sweatpants. Jessica doesn't complain, and instead she curls up on the couch, clutching a cup of tea Trish made.

She knows it bothers Trish that she hasn't spoken, but there's still a lingering effect. A lingering of _'do be quiet, Jessica. I'm focusing on something and I don't need you distracting me.'_

That had been eight hours ago, she thinks. After telling her to fuck him, but before they left to-

Jessica shakes her head, and takes a long sip from her tea. The movement seems to catch Trish's attention, because she turns her head.

"Jess, talk to me, please?" Trish sounds worried. Of course she's worried.

"Can't," she whispers, her voice harsh in her throat, like sandpaper. Trish looks confused, and for what it's worth, Jessica is too. She doesn't understand why she still needs to follow his orders after she's escaped him. It doesn't make sense.

" _Can't_?" Trish repeats, cutting into her thoughts, raising an eyebrow slowly. Jessica nods.

"Don't want to talk," she mumbles, and she feels so childish, but she can't talk. She doesn't want to, right?

She doesn't know anymore.

"Alright." Trish relents, but she sounds more worried. "Just, I'm here, if you need to talk."

Jessica just nods, and they sit in silence until she finally dozzes off to the soft chatter of a movie.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up slowly.

It's a process, slowly peeling her eyes open. She finds the brief moments of darkness comforting. Before she's awake and has to face reality. The light stings her corneas as she works up the courage to open them, and she winches slightly, shutting them back on instinct.

When she opens them again, her eyesight is better, and she keeps her gaze on the ceiling for a few moments.

She's scared that if she looks around, she'll be in bed with him. In some luxurious hotel suite in Rome, his lips moving to brush her ear as he whispers _'you love me'_ in her ear, saving a file into her system that makes her feel loved, makes her love him. A file she can't delete.

It's a virus that crawls through her system, worming it's way into important files, deleting ones it finds useless. It inputs one thought, one single file spread throughout her body. _She **loves** him._

And she does. There's an ache in her chest at the thought, and she craves being near him. She craves his body against her's.

She _misses_ him.

She feels sick. Her mind is clearer than last night, but there's still a thick, heavy coating of purple fog in her brain, but she can _think_.

She doesn't want him. She doesn't feel that way. She will _never_ feel that way about him.

But she does at the same time. He planted those thoughts in her head, inputted the coding that hardwired her brain to think she feels that way.

After several moments of staring at the plaster, she turns her head to find that, she is indeed, alone.

It's a relief, really, and she allows herself to relax. She lets the cold numbness of relief wash over her. She shuts her eyes again and relishes in the fact that last night _wasn't_ a dream.

She escaped.

Her relief is short lived, though, as along with her escape, she remembers the crash, the screeching tires, the blare of a bus horn, low and vibrating against her skull.

The crack of bone under her knuckles, the thump of that woman's body hitting the ground.

Jessica didn't even know her name.

She jerks upright, her breath hitching in her throat, and she wants to _scream_.

"Jess?"

She jumps slightly, turning her head to the door of her bedroom. That's when it hits her, and confusion floats in her brain, overpowering the ache in her heart and terror that seized her chest.

"How... I thought I fell asleep on the couch." She says quietly, but her voice comes out stronger than it was last night.

It's been over twelve hours, she realizes, his effect has worn off. So then why does she still ache for him? Why does she feel so _empty_?

"You did. I carried you here. I didn't want you to wake up uncomfortable." Trish answers plainly, as if obvious, her voice cutting into Jessica's thoughts. Jessica nods slightly, but doesn't move as Trish steps further into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

She pauses at the question, and she has to wonder, how _is_ she feeling? Her first instinct is to lie, say that she's _fine_ , because he told her she was. She _was_ fine.

She _feels_ great.

_She **loves** being with him._

"I don't know." She answers finally, shaking her head. "I..." She starts, and her eyes meet Trish's. Her lips are pressed, eyes concerned and careful. "I'm tired." She answers finally. It's not a lie, she is tired.

She's exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. Her battery is drained and she needs to recharge, but her charger is broken, the wire cut, so she's left as a device hanging to a five-percent battery life.

Trish nods at this, and a tense silence hovers over them for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry." Jessica says finally, and Trish looks confused.

"For what?" Trish prods gently. There's a note of confusion in her voice.

Jessica shrugs, shifting slightly to sit up. "Not contacting you. I couldn't-"

"Jess, stop, alright. I'm sure you had your reasons. I don't know what happened, I'm not going to ask, but I'm here, okay?" Trish's eyes search hers, and Jessica nods. "Whatever happened, whatever you _did_ , I'll understand."

Jessica bites her lower lip, and wonders if Trish would actually mean that if she knew what she did.

No. It wasn't her, it was him.

Right?

She doesn't know. It was... She _wanted_ to kill that woman, hadn't she? She wanted to kiss him, cuddle him and fuck him, right? That's what _she_ wanted, _right_?

"Jess?" Trish's voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and Jessica looks up to meet her eyes. She's standing now, looking down in concern, as if trying to gauge her mental state. "I'm going to make coffee, do you want some?" She asks, her tone suggesting that she's had to repeat it once already.

"Sure, coffee sounds great." Jessica answers, her tone quick as she crawls out of bed, following Trish into the kitchen.

Trish puts the pot on, and Jessica slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Silence drifts between them, but it's not uncomfortable. Maybe a bit uneasy, but it's to be expected when she hasn't talked to Trish in... however long she was gone.

Fuck, how long _was_ she gone for? It feels like years since she's sat down at this breakfast bar with Trish.

A click of a mug startles her out of her thoughts. Jessica glances up, mumbling a quiet _'thanks'_ as she grabs the warm ceramic mug tight in her fingers.

"How long was I gone?" She asks after a few moments spent sipping on coffee. Trish looks surprised, if briefly, before taking a sip from her own mug.

"Eight months." She answers quietly, looking down. Jessica can't tell if she's hurt, or sad about the fact that she was gone for that long; she assumes the latter.

She turns her eyes to her mug, staring at the dark liquid inside for what feels like ages.

"It felt like years." She murmurs finally, and she sees Trish look up at her, a vauge look of confusion and worry on her face. There's a few more moments of silence, before Trish speaks up again.

"Where did you go, Jess? You just, vanished." Trish asks, her tone hesitant. Jessica looks up from her coffee, not sure what to say.

After all, could she consider it kidnapping if she _willingly_ went along?

But _she_ didn't go willingly, did she?

_**'Come along, Jessica. Paris sounds nice.'** _

And then it _did_ sound nice.

"Jess?" She jumps slightly at Trish's voice, looking up slightly to find Trish's brows furrowed in worry. "Talk to me, please? This isn't like you." Trish pleads slightly, and Jessica takes a sip from her mug, remaining silent for a moment.

"I..." She starts quietly, not sure how to explain. How do you explain mind control? Trish surely won't believe her. How could she explain it? Say that she was _raped_?

Was she though? She'd wanted too, too...

_**'You want this.'** _

"I don't want to talk about it." She whispers instead, clutching her mug tightly. She sees Trish frown, concern etched into her face. "You won't believe me anyways." She adds, before she can stop herself, because it feels so _good_ to be able to speak freely.

"Jess, really. I'll believe you, no matter how absurd it sounds." Trish says, patient and gentle and _damn it, Jessica doesn't deserve such utmost trust and love._

So she laughs.

It's a sharp, bitter sounding laugh that rips her throat apart. It causes her lungs to expand, pushing against her ribs as she shakes her head, her lips twisting into some twisted, unnatural smile.

She hates it, and it falls quickly from her face into a scowl.

"Trish, I can't. I can't even believe it myself." She says after she's calmed, her eyes sliding up to look at her.

"Then let me try, Jess. It might not be as far fetched as you think."

Jessica laughs again. "Trish, you don't understand. He, _I_..." she falters, and her eyes flicker down in a far off look. "He made me, _want_ to..." He throat closes up and breathing gets short and quick. She doesn't realize that she's full on panicking again. Her heartbeat picks up, and blood roars in her ears, drowning out anything else except _his_ voice.

**_'You want to do it. You know you do.'_ **

She slips off the stool, pacing the room in a feverish movement. She needs to move, she needs to run, do _something_.

"Jessica, calm down." Jessica halts, her feet freezing in place, and instinct tells her to _stop_ , to _calm down_.

Instinct tells her to _obey_.

He told her to follow all orders put to her, she's not sure why he told her to do that. Probably so he didn't have to specify what was an order or not. But that had to be over twelve hours ago. It had to be over twenty-four. Shit, it might even be over thirty-six hours if she could actually _think_.

It's a virus, some sort of sick fungus that picks away at her brain, shutting down nerves so that all she can do is what she's told. Even if the command isn't given by him, it's become some sort of defense mechanism; like an animal who was abused by its owner, and told not to pee or shit on the carpet, or they'd be locked in the closet. Naturally, they're going to build up some sort of defensive system to protect themselves.

For her, that was obeying without question or complaint. Not that she had a choice in the matter, but sometimes there'd be tiny little slip ups that she could use to rebel.

**_'Where do you want to go, Jessica?'_** _He'd asked her one time during a trip to Barcelona. His arm woven around her waist, holding her flush against his side._

_**'Home.'** She'd answered, because he never said specifically what he meant, so, she assumed he'd meant right now. His smile vanished, and he waved his hand slightly to brush off her reply, correcting her with surprising patience._

_**'No, you silly girl, for dinner. Seafood sounds good. You like seafood. There's a nice place down the street.'** He'd told her, tugging her along. The way he'd said silly was condensing. Sharp and lacking any sort of affection. As if he grew tired of her minor actions of defiance._

And that would be all she wrote. She'd smile, say that it sounds like a _wonderful_ idea, because she'd be terrified of what he'd do. Her brain rewiring itself to his bidding, his words.

Trish appears in her vision through the thick purple haze of memories she wants to forget, her fingers curling around her shoulders in a gentle, but stable, grip. Jessica shifts, gasping for air, realizing she's panicking. She can't breathe, she can't think, and Trish's fingers tighten slightly on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. It's enough to snap her out of it, and she blinks, focusing on Trish as she breathes in, opening her mouth to say something. Anything, an apology for being so _fucking stupid_.

Before she can speak, Trish pulls her into a hug. It's almost a sensory overload, the smell of Trish, the warmth, it's almost to much.

"It's okay, Jess, you're here with me." Trish whispers, and Jessica stands stiffly in the embrace, not sure what to do.

"Trish, I don't know what to _do_." She breathes hoarsely, her voice desperate. She's so lost, damaged and broken beyond repair right now. Her throat closes up with emotion, and Trish gives her a small, comforting squeeze.

"I'll help you figure it out, okay?" Trish says gently, stepping back and looking at her. "You can see that therapist I saw after we moved out of my mother's. If you want of course, I'm not going to pressure you into doing anything."

"I don't-" She starts to protest, she starts say that _'no, she doesn't need a god damn shrink'_ but fear stops her. She's not sure what she's afraid of, she doesn't have anything to be afraid of.

"I think it would help. I don't know what happened, Jess, but I can tell just from how you're acting. It's above my paygrade." Trish continues, her tone still gentle, calming. "I'm here for you to talk too, but I think a professional would help you sort through your thoughts."

There's a long pause, and Jessica shifts on her feet as she thinks. She wants to say no, she wants to just lay in bed all day and drink herself into a coma because even that's better than whatever she's doing right now, but Trish is looking at her with this concern look that makes Jessica think of a baby animal and _damn it_ she can never say no to Trish.

"Okay." She breathes finally, nodding her head slightly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late about posting this. I hit a block and wasn't sure how to write this one. I'm not as proud of it, and feel that it could be better. I'm worried that this'll get too repetitive, and so I'm trying to do new things each chapter.
> 
> If you have any suggestions or ideas on what to do, or things you'd like to see, I'm completely open to them! Feel free to post them in the comments!

"This is bullshit."

"You don't have to do this, Jess. I'm not going to force you." Trish calls from the kitchen.

Jessica blinks, her eyes pulling away from the computer screen, looking at Trish from over the top of the laptop with a calculated glance from the couch.

She doesn't give much of a response, turning her eyes down to the computer screen again, signifying that she's not going to respond.

This is still bullshit, and while she'd much rather just lie and pretend nothing was wrong, but some small part of her wants to do this; wants to get better.

_'Have you experience any sort of trauma in the past year?'_

**_Yes_ **

_'Are you experiencing overwhelming sadness, depression, or grief?'_

She has to think about that one, reading it several times before typing her answer, and even after that, she's still not sure. There's a hole in her heart, or, at least, it feels like there is one.

**_Yes_ **

_'Are you currently experiencing anxiety, panic attacks, or any phobias?'_

_**Yes** _

_'Are you currently experiencing emotions and/or mood that effect your day to day functions?'_

**_Yes_ **

_'Have you been recently drinking excessively in order to drown out feelings?'_

Well what kind of bullshit question is that? She sighs, typing _**yes**_ reluctantly.

_'How have you been sleeping?'_

She checks the 'Unusual' box, along with the 'Nightmares' box.

_'Please check any of the following problems that pertain to you.'_

Jessica pauses, reading through the boxes. She's not sure how she's been feeling, as the boxes list. She just feels, empty. She feels cold, lost, she feels... abandoned.

_**'Anger' 'Nightmares' 'Sexual Problems' 'Seperation' 'Other: Feeling Disconnected'** _

She's not to sure about the last three. She hasn't had any sexual encounters in the day since she got back, but the thought of it nearly terrifies her irrationally.

The separation, she feels, is all him and his fucking stupid mind control bullshit. Or, at least, she _thinks_ so. She's not sure.

Finally, with the disconnected feeling, she's not sure if that's her or his feeling. A hint of his coding that was never fully erased. She always felt disconnected when she was around him. Like a robot, emotionless, cold, and only allowed to follow orders.

She checks and fills them out anyways and moves to click the submit button after filling out the medical questions along with her name and list of her family with their relationships.

She snaps the laptop shut, pushing it onto the coffee table as Trish walks out with two mugs of tea.

"Scooch," Trish says in a mildly playful tone, nudging her legs. Jessica complies quickly, tugging her legs closer to her. She quietly takes the mug from her, taking a small sip. "Do you want to do anything today? We can throw on a movie." Trish asks after a pause, and Jessica arches an eyebrow.

"Don't you, I don't know, have _work_ to do?" She asks, and Trish shrugs her shoulders.

"I took the rest of the week off."

"Trish-"

"Don't start, Jess. My best friend shows up in my doorstep, having a panic attack and covered in blood, I think that qualifies as an emergency." Trish says firmly, and Jessica scowls against the rim of her mug.

"I don't need a babysitter." She mutters against the ceramic.

"Who said I was babysitting you?" Trish arches an eyebrow curiously.

"No one said that. I just don't think you need to take three days off. I can take care of myself."

"Jess, I'm not taking off to take care of you. I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. I want to spend time with you. It's been eight months since we last even spoke. The last thing you told me was that-"

"-I needed space." Jessica finishes abruptly, the memory burning in her mind. The words bubble up in her throat, choking and bitter against her tounge.

_**'Convince her you're okay. You're fine, you're happy. You want to be here, Jessica.'** _

"I'm sorry, Trish." The words curl her lips into a frown and she feels so fucking guilty. She's a shitty friend who couldn't even let Trish know that she was okay.

She _couldn't_ let Trish know she was okay. He wouldn't let her.

_**'She'll be fine, Jessica. She's probably forgotten all about you anyways. Now, forget about Patsy and kiss me. I'll make you feel better.'** _

The words had stung, stabbing her deep and tearing into her chest, they still do, and Jessica fights the insecure urge to ask if Trish thought about her while she was gone.

"You don't have to apologize Jess." Trish says gently, cutting into her thoughts. Damn it, Trish is too understanding and kind for her own good.

"Got any whiskey here?" She asks abruptly after a pregnant pause. Trish looks surprised, but waves her hand to the kitchen.

"Yeah, in the top cabniets. Why?"

"Because I need a god damn drink."

"This early?"

"Yes."

She stands up, stomping to the kitchen and moving to open the top cabniets. Her fingers curl around the neck of the bottle, listening to it scrape against the wood as she pulls it down.

"Filling out that bullshit form gave me a headache." She says by way of explanation as she crosses the room. It's not exactly true, but it isn't exactly a lie either. She falls back down onto the couch, watching Trish flip through the movie channels.

"You hungry?" Trish asks, and Jessica shifts slightly, feeling her gut twist, swinging a mouthful of whiskey pass her lips.

_**'You're hungry, Jessica.'** _

"No. Not really." She half-lies, just because she can. Just so she has a say in something with her life now.

"You sure? You haven't eaten much since you got back."

Jessica pauses, staring at the TV and not her best friend. It's funny, in a dark, twisted, not-actually-really-all-that-funny kind of way, that she doesn't know exactly if she's hungry. Kilgrave always told her when to eat. When she was hungry.

"No. I'm not." She admits, her voice quiet, dropping an octave lower.

"You're not sure if you're hungry, or you're not hungry?" Trish asks, sounding confused.

"The first one." She answers, finally tossing a glance at Trish. Her eyebrows are furrowed, knitted together in confusion.

"How's pizza sound? Then if you're not hungry, you can heat it up when you are." Trish suggests, and Jessica glances over at her.

She's not sure what to say, being given the choice for dinner, and not forced to eat whatever _he_ wanted to eat.

"Sounds fine." She answers finally, and Trish reaches for her cell phone, dialing the number.

"Usual?" Trish asks as she holds the phone to her ear. Jessica relishes in the normalcy of the moment. She can _almost_ imagine that it never happened, it was all some fucked up dream.

"Sure." She answers again, reaching for the remote to flip through the channels.

\--

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Trish asks, not long after they finish up a few action movies Jessica's forgotten the name of. Two pizza boxes sit in front of them, neither really touched much, maybe one or two slices gone from each.

Hey, at least she ate something. Normally she'd eat more than just a slice though

"I thought you said you weren't going to push." She mutters, sipping on the bottle of whiskey. It's almost gone, and she's feeling a bit buzzed and groggy now.

"I'm not, Jess. Really, I'm not. I just... I'm worried about you." Trish says quickly, and Jessica raises an eyebrow at her.

"Well don't be. I can handle it." She says, slouching further down, propping her feet up on the table. 

Trish lightly pushes them off before speaking. "I never said you couldn't, but I want to help, Jess."

"Well maybe I don't need you're god damned help, Trish!" Jessica snaps, standing roughly, "maybe I don't want to talk about how he took me out to dinner every god damn night like we were some stupid fucking couple! Maybe I don't want to talk about the amount of people he-" She cuts off from her half-minded rant, sucking in a breath that doesn't fully reach her lungs, and trembling at the memory.

 _ **'Come on, Jessie. We know what happens you try to disobey me. When you try to run away.'**_ His voice is low, seductive and right next to her ear. She can particularly smell his cologne, spices and lemon.

She feels dizzy, and she wants to throw up.

"Nevermind." She rasps out, her throat tight and her voice shaky. "Forget I said anything." She adds, pushing pass the couch and starting to her bedroom.

"Jess, wait-"

She shuts and locks the door before Trish can finish speaking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new update! Fair warning, there is thoughts of wishing to commit suicide in this chapter, just a fair warning.
> 
> And, we get a bit of Trish'S perspective here too, just to change it up, and have a bit more of an emotional impact.

Jessica isn't sure how long she stays in her room. She's panicking, her fingers clutching the blanket as she tries to steel herself.

Her head is foggy, she can't think straight, and _fuck she almost told Trish._

That's the only thing she can focus on. She almost told Trish. _He_ told her not to tell anyone anything. Panic rushes through her, and she's feels... Worthless? Angry? She doesn't know exactly, it's all to muddled in with a mix of emotions she can't identify; like trying to peel at layer of skin that won't come off.

She doesn't know how to feel. Her emotions are mixed up with how he told her, and she _knows_ that now at least, but she can't identify what are _her_ emotions and what was _his_ emotions.

Jessica leans back, shutting her eyes and trying so, _so_ hard to get a grip of her surroundings.

The smell of home lingers in her nose, accompanied with the scent of a candle Trish has so often burning that it floods even into her room and stains the air; sweet vanilla and cinnamon.

The sheets under her fingertips soft, but not expensive soft. Certainly not sheets _he_ would sleep under.

She can hear the sounds of cars passing by, an occasional horn blaring in outrage. It surprisingly comforting, a human action and sound driven by annoyance that she hasn't heard in a long time.

He, after all, always made sure to pick the quietest of places, so they wouldn't be desturbed by unwanted noises.

Slowly, she exhales, her tense muscles loosening and relaxing as she sags into the mattress, soft and plush against her body. She's only just calmed down when a knock resonates through the wooden door, causing her to jolt slightly.

"Jess? Can I-can I come in?" Trish's voice, muffled and hesitant, manages to reach her ears. Jessica remains silent for a long time, or, it feels like she does. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want too." Trish continues when Jessica doesn't respond. "Actually, I've been thinking of going out to a bar tonight." She adds, seeming to realize Jessica isn't going to respond. She does look up at this though, but simply waits for Trish to finish. "You know, have a few drinks, just to get out of the house?"

Jessica nods her head, despite the fact that Trish can't see it.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come with me." Trish finally finishes, and Jessica lets her head fall back on the pillow. "Clear your head a bit, you know?" She suggests.

She waits for a few moments, simply thinking on Trish's offer. She feels compressed, tight, trapped. She wants to go out, but she's terrified. What if he's sitting outside waiting for her? What if he's not actually dead, and when she leaves this safe little heaven, she'll be cast back down to hell? It's a stupid thought, but it floods her brain nonetheless.

Slowly, she stands, making her way over to the door and unlocking it. Trish looks up when she pulls the door open, surprise written on her face, and Jessica remains silent for a moment.

"You don't-"

"No, I'll go. Just... let me get changed." Jessica cuts in, and Trish nods slightly.

"Right, I'll wait for you." She answers, and there's a brief awkward pause before Jessica closes the door.

\--

Jessica Jones normally would not give two shits over being in a crowded bar.

Shit, normally she'd be fucking thrilled to sit in one, bitch about her latest job escapee to Trish over a bottle of whiskey or vodka.

Now though? Now she's uneasy. She's on edge, tense and high-strung like a spring ready to jump up. Her gaze darts around the room, the lights gleaming eerily, bathing the bar in tints of greens and blues and purples.

She _hates_ the color purple.

She tosses back another shot and tries to think about something else.

"So," Trish starts, and Jessica looks at her warily. She's glad this isn't one of those bars that plays super fucking loud music that drowns everything out. Trish's soft voice soothes the anxiety she feels, if even a little bit, so Jessica can relax at the sound. "You know I'm not one for one night stands," She continues, and Jessica follows her gaze to a guy sitting a table. "But, you have an admirer."

"He can go fuck himself." Jessica mutters, turning back to Trish. Her best friend chuckles slightly, smiling.

"I just wanted to give you a heads up." Trish bumps her shoulder with her own, and Jessica twitches her lips up just slightly. "Never know what these creeps will do."

"No, you really don't." She mutters in a sardonic tone, her voice bitter. "What, happened? In the eight months that I was gone?" Jessica asks after a pause. Trish looks up in surprise, her lips pressed together slightly.

"Well," She starts, sipping on her drink. "Aliens attacked again. The government tried to cover it up, but, well... How did you not hear about it? It was all over the news."

"I was out of town." She answers stiffly. "Didn't really, have time for the news." She shrugs, her lips loose from the alcohol.

"Where did you go? You don't have to tell me, I'm just curious." Trish adds the last bit hurriedly, and Jessica remains silent for a moment before she tosses back another shot.

_**'How's Paris sound, Jessica?'** He'd asked her, his eyes watching her as he wrapped an arm around her._

_**'It sounds nice.'** She forced out, of her own violation, because that's what he had wanted her to say, and God knew what he'd do if she said no. She really didn't want to find out. His lips pulled into a smile, clearly pleased with her reaction._

"I don't want to talk about." She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. She waves a bartender over before Trish can reply. "Can I get a bottle of Wild Turkey?" She asks, and he nods, moving to set the bottle down.

Jessica reaches for it, unscrewing the top pouring some in the glass.

"Jess, maybe you should slow down." Trish says as she tosses the glass back. Jessica scoffs lightly, shaking her head.

"I'm fine, Trish. I know my limits."

\--

Turns out, Trish laments inwardly, Jessica doesn't know her limits; or rather, she does and just doesn't give a shit. Knowing Jessica, she can assume it's the latter.

Regardless, Trish is fully ready to drag her best friend home, despite the process it is of having Jessica leaning on her.

"Trish, 'M sorry." Jessica says, startling Trish from the her thoughts. She's confused, truthfully, on what exactly Jessica is sorry about. Surely not getting drunk, Jessica isn't coherent enough for that.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about." She assures gently, and she hears Jessica release a slight half-laugh half-sigh from her throat.

"Yes I do-"

"-You're drunk, Jess. You don't know what you're saying." Trish cuts in, and Jessica shakes her head sloppily.

"Trish..." Jessica's fingers tighten on her shoulder, almost painful, and the note of desperation in her friend's voice chills her blood. "Don't..." Jessica stammers a bit, tumbling over her words in slight desperation. "Don't let him..." Trish pauses, looking at Jessica and studying her. Her body is tense, rigid against her own.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Alright?" Trish soothes, not entirely sure if she should take what Jessica was babbling about seriously or not.

"You can't..." Jessica mumbles, and her head lulls slightly.

"Nope. Come on Jess, stay awake, alright?" Trish says quickly, because she certainly cannot carry Jessica up to her apartment. Jessica groans aloud, sounding frustrated at the fact that she can't sleep.

"'M tired, Trish." She mumbles, her voice thick, exhaustion weighting her tone down.

"I know, I'm sure you are. You did drink an entire bottle of whiskey." Trish tries to joke lightly, and Jessica scoffs.

"Fuckin'... Stupid bartender. Cuttin' me off." Jessica says, and Trish shakes her head.

"He was right too, Jess, now come on, up the steps."

They stumble up the staircase into the building without any problems, and manage to make it upstairs to her apartment after only one mishap of almost tripping.

Trish unlocks the door, and gently helps Jessica to her bedroom, laying her down.

"Thanks Trish." Jessica slurs out slightly, her eyes half-lidded and her pale face flushed pink.

"Don't thank me, Jess. You don't need too." Trish brushes off, because Jessica really doesn't need too thank her. She moves, gently pulling off Jessica's shoes and setting them down on the floor. "Get some sleep, alright?"

Trish starts towards the door, her hand lingering on the doorknob in reluctance to leave. She's just about to turn it when-

"I thought about killing myself."

The words turn her blood to ice. Her heart leaps to her throat and she glances over at Jessica. Her eyes are dull, fixed on the ceiling, her face expressionless.

Trish lets her hand fall off the doorknob, she's not sure what to say. Hell, she's not even sure if she can speak. She's waiting for Jessica grin and say that it was some stupid joke, and then let Trish berate her for making such a heartless joke.

None of that happens, not that Trish wants it too. She's not sure what she wants to have happen.

"Jess..." She manages to choke out, her voice tight and she's scared, terrified even, but Jessica doesn't look at her.

"I-I wanted it to stop. I wanted to see you, I wanted be free from his fucking-" Jessica cuts off, and chill runs down Trish's spine at the wetness in her eyes.

She's never seen Jessica cry, except after her parents died, but that was years ago.

Trish shakes her head, crossing the room again and sitting down on the bed. She's not going to ask about whatever Jessica is talking about. She's to scared too. Her fingers brush through Jessica's hair gently, her thumb swiping against her cheek. Jessica flinches at the contact, and Trish moves to pulls her hand back.

"I'm so sorry, Trish." She whispers harshly, her fingers curling around Trish's wrist in a tight grip, stilling it against her cheek.

"I forgive you, Jess." Trish whispers back, her voice trembling just slightly. She's not even sure what she's forgiving Jessica for. She's angry, angry at whoever did this to Jessica, angry at herself for failing to see any sort of sign that something was wrong, but she's also terrified. God, she's so _scared_ right now because this is not like Jessica at all. "Now get some sleep, alright? You'll be okay, I'm here." She adds, her own hand creeping up to gently pull Jessica's hand off her, holding it in her own.

Jessica drifts off not long after that, and Trish is to terrified to move from her perch on the bed. Her mind is reeling and she feels like crying. She doesn't cry though, and instead she bites her cheek, puts on a brave face, and stays with Jessica through the night.

Jessica only wakes up once, around three in the morning, unable to breathe and clutching at Trish hard enough for her to bruise. It's only after a lot of coaxing and reassurances that she's safe, and whoever she thinks is coming to get her is not here, that she falls back asleep.

Trish sighs softly, watching her best friend. Her face is pinched, and Trish reaches out to smooth over the wrinkles in her forehead, but halts prematurely as the tightness in her face relaxes.

Carefully, she reaches for her phone to call the therapist's office. She needs to get the soonest appointment. It's around seven now, so they should be open.

The brightness of her screen makes her eyes water, or, she thinks it that. It could be for other, much more obvious reasons. Trish really can't bring herself to care right now. She manages to find the phone number, stroking her thumb over Jessica's still bruised and scabbing knuckles.

She wonders how they got like that as she pushes the call button.

"Hey, uhhm, Dr. Young? Yeah, it's me Trish. No, no, I'm fine, at least, I think I am, but it's Jessica I'm worry about. Did you get her form?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the long wait.
> 
> And, the ending feels a bit abrupt to me on this one, but I wasn't sure I'd get a better ending if I continued.
> 
> Anyways, on with the chapter.

Jessica wakes up with a pounding headache, and low groan pulls from her throat as she rolls over, pulling the covers over her head in hopes to get the bright light go away.

She lays there for a few moments, trying and failing to recall what happened last night. She remembers going out with Trish, but nothing else afterward.

Fuck, how much did she drink last night?

Slowly, she pushes herself up to her feet and cups a hand over her mouth to fight the threat of throwing up on floor, rushing to the bathroom.

She barely has time to throw the lid up with a sharp bang that makes her head split in two, puking whatever is in her stomach out into the toilet bowl.

Jessica moans slightly, squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden tilt of the world as she drops her head to the rim of the toilet seat. She's not sure how long she sits there, but she jumps when a soft click of a glass touching the sink counter top startles her.

"Sorry, figured you'd need some ibuprofen." Trish says, her voice quiet, careful, and Jessica eyes her slightly before nodding.

"Yeah, thanks." She whispers, taking the two pills and glass of water from her. She swallows them quickly, and there's a brief lapse in silence as Jessica waits for the world to stop tilting.

"Are you okay?" Trish asks finally, and Jessica blinks, cracking her eyes open again.

"Yeah. Just hungover." She answers, climbing to her feet. Jessica pauses, catching Trish eyeing her warily. "What?"

"Nothing, just..." She starts, and quickly looks down at her feet. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"What happened last night?" Jessica sighs, but there's a tension in her gut. She feels like she's going to be sick again. Obviously something happened, or else Trish wouldn't be acting this way. The thought almost paralyzes her, what if she said something about-

"I scheduled you a meeting with Dr. Young, the therapist I went to? It'd tonight at seven." Trish says, her voice quick, cutting into her thoughts.

"You did what?" Horror twists her stomach. Sharp and punctual and _it hurts so fucking bad._ There's the bitter taste of betrayal in her mouth, she feels like the world has been ripped out from under her. She's lost control of her grounding and she staggers back against the wall.

It's like a punch in the gut, and she can't breathe, she can't-

"Jess, breathe, please?" Trish's voice is soft, concerned. She feels fingers brush her shoulder and Jessica flinches back, drawing in on herself again.

"Why?" She gasps out the single word, and it hurts to ask why. She sucks in another breath, sharp and cold, but it barely reaches her lungs before she forces it out again. "Why would you...?" She can't fathom why Trish would do this to her. Betray her like this.

Unless... 

No. She escaped. This can't be one of his mind games. He can't make people hallucinate, right?

"Jess, look at me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Trish's voice is soft still, and Jessica remains rigid as she stands stiff against the wall. She stares at Trish, her best friend, the _one_ person she trusted more than anything. "I had too, Jess."

She laughs, a sharp bitter sound and she curls her lips into a sneer. "Why, Trish?" She snaps out, unable to keep the venom from her tone. She's angry, livid at the betrayal she feels because it makes no sense in the rational part of her brain. "Why didn't you at least wait?!"

"Because you said you thought about-" Trish cuts off, and Jessica stops at the expression on her face. 

Her eyes are shining slightly, and Jessica has never seen Trish cry, not even in the horrible things her mother did. Trish looks down, her lips twisting into something angry, like the thought sickens her.

"Last night, you got drunk, really drunk-"

"Well that explains the hangover." Jessica mutters, cutting into her explication.

"-You said you thought about, about killing yourself." Trish finishes, as if she had never spoken.

The words are another punch to the gut, this one knocking air out of her lungs, and she hitches a breath in her throat.

**_'Never do that again, Jessica. You will not think about doing such a horrendous act ever again.'_ **

Panic. Hot and burning under her skin, seizing her tightly and she gags, retching dryly. Her knees shake, and she almost collapses to the floor, but Trish's arms, strong and supportive, gently catch her fall.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck, I fucked up. I'm sorry. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._ " She's babbling, consumed with panic because she disobeyed. She thought about it, oh how she _thought about it._

Trish gently pulls her close, and Jessica lets her, willing pressing against Trish on the bathroom floor. She feels her fingers gently brush through her hair.

"Shh. It's okay. You don't have to apologize. I should be apologizing." She hears Trish whisper against her hair. She shivers, tightening her grip in Trish wordlessly.

"No. You don't have to. You did what you thought was right." Jessica whispers back, soft and quiet and strained. Trish nods wordlessly against her head, and neither of them speak for a while.

Jessica isn't sure how long they sit there, but she finally pulls away after a moment, her panic cooling down, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

"Are you still mad at me, for, scheduling the appointment? I can cancel it, it's just, after last night I-" Trish starts hesitantly, and Jessica shakes her head.

"No, I'm not," she answers quickly, and they lapse in silence for a moment. "You don't have to cancel, I'll go." She adds quickly, and Trish nods, helping her stand.

"Right, okay, how about some breakfast?" It a cry for normalcy, and Jessica is thankful for the attempt.

"Yeah, that sounds good." She replies, standing up.

"Great, now take these, I'm sure you have a headache." Trish says, her tone somewhat playful, somewhat of an order. Jessica flinches, reaching on command out to take the pills and glass of water, swallowing them.

If Trish notices, she doesn't say anything.

\--

"You're sure you'll be okay?" Trish asks, and Jessica wonders how many times she'll ask her that.

"I'll be fine, Trish." She grits out, wondering how many times Trish will ask her that. "If I don't want to talk, I won't talk. Bullshit, two-hundred dollars for a shrink."

"I don't mind paying."

"I know." She mutters, slouching in her seat as they wait. Minutes tick by in silence, until a door down the hall Jessica can see slides open, and a middle-aged man steps out.

"Jessica Jones?" He calls, his voice carrying a hint of an accent. She's not sure what kind it is, Australian, maybe. Jessica sighs, sliding out of her seat and shoving her hands into the pockets of her old leather jacket.

"That's me." She says in a bored tone, and he nods with a kind smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Jones. I'm Dr. Robert Young, if you could follow me." He waves them down the hall, and Jessica follows quietly, not glancing back at Trish.

The room is fairly miscellaneous, cream walls with a nice office desk made of dark wood. She falls down onto a couch and stretches her legs out lengthwise parallel to the couch.

"So, how are you doing, Jessica? Or do you prefer Miss Jones?" He asks as he sits down. Jessica stares at him, watching with an uneasy feeling in her gut.

"Jessica's fine." She answers, before looking down at the desk, studying the various photographs on it. "And, I'm... I don't know." She adds, and he nods slightly.

"That's okay, Jessica. I'm here to help you sort through that. Is there anything you want to talk about?" He asks, a gentle, prodding tone in his voice. It's an invite to speak, but also an invite to let her take control of the conversation. She's not use to it, being in control of how a conversation goes. He always lead the conversation, put words in her mouth, decided everything for her. She doesn't know how to handle it.

"No." She says, shaking her head quickly. It's an avoidance tactic, she knows this, somewhere in the back of her head. "I don't, want to talk about anything."

_**'Jessica, quiet down. Don't speak a word.'** _

"Okay," he says carefully, and Jessica watches as he moves over to the other side of his desk. "Your friend Trish really seems to care about you," he says. Jessica nods her head, he continues. "Any other family?"

"No. Just Trish."

"What about a boyfriend, or a girlfriend?" He asks, and Jessica shakes her head.

"No. Just, uhm..." How could she define her relationship with Kilgrave? They certainly weren't in love, were they? Could she define it as Stockholm Syndrome? She _didn't_ love him though. Right? _They weren't a couple._

_**'You love me, Jessica. You love me so much.'** _

"No. I don't think so." She settles on finally, her fingers moving to pick at a thread in her jeans, anything to distract her. He nods slightly, "what about you?" She asks after a pause, hoping to avoid questions, nodding her head to the photos.

"Ah, divorced, found out my wife was having an affair. Just me and my son now." He answers, his fingers brushing a photo frame. Jessica stares hard at it, not sure what to say as she shifts in her seat.

"Tell me, Jessica-" He starts.

**_'Tell me everything about you.'_ **

"-Do you know why you're here today?" He asks, and Jessica bites her cheek, the instinct to respond right away burning in her.

"Yes." She says, against her own violation, her breathing hitching in her throat. It's a quick, short answer, her tone curt. "Do you?" She asks, unable to hide the twinge of fear in her voice. She doesn't know why she's afraid of what he knows. He can't possibly know. She hasn't told anyone.

"I only know what you feel you want to tell me, and what you said in your file." He says reassuringly, his fingers tapping the small folder on his desk. "Would you like to tell me? You don't have too, but it might be easier. They say talking about a trauma helps." He prods sagely, but never drops that gentle tone.

Jessica shakes her head.

"Tell me about Trish, are you two close?" He asks suddenly, and Jessica looks up at him sharply.

"Yes, I'd say so. I mean, we were closer, but then I..." She cuts off, looking down. "Then I left." She finishes thickly, swallowing.

"Why did you leave?"

_**'You like Chinese.'** _

"He took me." She answers, against her own violation again. She sees confusion curl his brows.

"Who took you, Jessica?" He asks, his tone soft, a light whisper as he leans forward.

_**'Come with me, Jessica. You'll love Rome.'** _

No. She can't do this, she _can't do this._ No one will believe her. They'll call her loony, lock her up in some crazy ass hospital with a straight jacket while she babbles on about how he _raped her, told her to fuck him, made her want him and then deny her what she **wanted**. She wanted it so fucking bad and-_

"Jessica?" Dr. Young's voice floats into her skull, bringing her thoughts to a screeching halt. His voice is concerned, smooth, and gentle. "Breathe, Jessica, deep breathes in and out."

She obeys, sucking air into her lungs slowly upon his instruction. The purple cloud lifts slowly, and she's shaking.

"Was that your first panic attack?" He asks once she's calmed down. She scowls slightly at him, but wordlessly shakes her head. "How long have you been having them?"

Jessica shrugs her shoulders. "I dunno. Recently though. Past few days." She answers shortly, uncomfortable at the thought, and he nods his head sagely.

"Do you want a way to handle them?" He asks, and Jessica scowls ridiculously at him.

"No, I want to keep suffering." She mutters sarcastically, and she instantly feels guilty.

**_'Do not speak to me in that manner again, Jessica. Cut your tounge out next time you do.'_ **

Her breathing hitches slightly, she's not sure if fear is the reason why, and she curls her fingers around the edge of the couch, sitting up now.

"Some people refuse help. I like to ask." He explains quickly, scratching the back of his head. "Tell me, what street did you live on as a kid?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" She asks with a raised eyebrow, but she can't keep the curiousity out of her voice. "Birch Street," she answers finally, relenting.

"And the next block over."

"Higgins Drive." She feels calmer, her throat opening up, allowing her to breathe easier.

"And the next..."

"Main Street." Warm. She feels warm now, allowing herself to think of old, rusty memories of home. Of her brother, her parents. Trish. It calms her.

"And the next..."

"Cobalt Lane." She blows out a breath, her shoulders relaxing slowly.

"Better?" He asks gently, and Jessica nods her head slightly. "Now, Jessica, I'm not going to pry, but, just from this one session and your file, I get the feeling that you don't know what you're feeling, is that correct?" Dr. Young asks, tilting his head slightly.

Jessica hesitates, before she nods her head. She watches as he stands up, crossing back over to the other side of his desk. She can't see what he's doing, but she hears the scrape of wood against wood, and he pulls out a small, spiral bound notebook from a drawer.

Dr. Young holds it up; it's black plastic over, blank, with a silver spiral and fairly thick. "I want you to write in this, whatever you want to write about, whatever comes to mind, just write whenever you feel like it. I won't ask to read it, all I ask is that you write." He explains gently, offering it to her.

Jessica hesitates, her fingers twitching as she stares at the notebook. It's only after a few long, tense moments that she reaches out and takes it. "Why?" She finally asks, her voice quiet.

"You'd be surprised how therapeutic writing can be, Jessica." He answers, a small smile on his face. "I think we're done for the night. Thank you for speaking with me." He says, standing and waving to the door. "Remember that I'm here if you want to talk."

"Yes, because you're so easily accessible." She mutters dryly, clutching the notebook tightly in her hands. He smiles slightly, shaking his head.

"Have a nice night, Jessica," is all he says. Jessica just nods at this point, stepping out and walking back to the waiting room.

Trish is still sitting there, staring dutifully at her phone. Jessica scoffs, flicking her forehead lightly, causing Trish to look up with a frown.

"You know, if you want to pretend you're not worried about me and weren't anxiously checking the time, you could at least have your phone doing something." She says, and Trish frowns slightly.

"How'd it go?" She asks, her voice a bit hesitant.

Jessica shrugs, "Okay," she answers casually, her fingers tightening around the notebook.

"Just okay?" Trish inquires, her voice curious.

"Yeah, just okay." She agrees, nodding her head slightly. Trish stands up, looking at her.

"Are you ready to go home?" She asks gently, shrugging on her coat. 

Jessica nods again, "yeah. Let's go home."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, surprise update for you. This did not go how I planned. At all. But I love it, so I really don't care. I'm sure you guys aren't complaining.
> 
> (This chapter has also shone light on why I don't write at 3 in the morning.)
> 
> Heavy stuff ahead though, like, mental breakdown type stuff. Mentions of attempted suicide. This chapter gets dark. Also, due to how I wrote this chapter, it can be somewhat disorientating. That's the point though.
> 
> And, I hope you've been paying attention to the certain things that have been mentioned in previous chapters. Take from that what you will. ;)
> 
> Oh, and, in case you guys haven't seen it, I'm writing another Jessica Jones fic titled "We Shine Together." Check it out if you want, it's on my profile.
> 
> Oh, one more thing, sorry. You guys should check out Moo Points Podcasts, they did an amazing Jessica Jones review. Shoutout to you two lovely girls! I'm sure you're reading this. :)
> 
> And, without further delay, on with this heartbreak of a chapter. No cookies or hot chocolate in this one. Sorry LifeThatisGood. Next chapter, I promise.

That night, Jessica is almost to scared to sleep. She's not sure what to do, and she certainly isn't going to ask Trish for any ideas.

Trish will only get concerned, and fuck, Jessica hates it when Trish nags.

So, she sits curled up in bed, her back against the headboard, covers pulled up over her legs, and the notebook tossed haphazardly next to her.

She's scared to write it in. She doesn't know why, but she is.

Her fingers move, brushing the smooth, cool plastic surface of the front. She flinches, pulling her hand back as if it had burned her. Her eyes flick around the darkened room, and she wonders what time it is.

It can't be that late, maybe around eleven at night. It's probably later though.

In a burst of movement, she kicks at the covers, tossing them off down to the foot of the bed. She slides out quickly, pacing the wooden floor, her bare feet hitting the ground with soft thumps.

She counts them. _one, two, three. One, two, three._

A waltz; a dance, fast paced and nimble. Jessica hates dancing, but he loved it. _He_ took her dancing at least twice a month. Said he liked the classical music, the melody, the act of dancing.

He said he liked that it made them whole. It made them _one._

She stops, breathes in sharply, grabs the stupid notebook, and slips out of her room.

The rest of the apartment is quiet; dark. There's a flare up of anxiety in her chest that makes her stiffen, and she stands in the hallway frozen for several long mintues.

What if he's here? Waiting for her, lingering in the shadows ready to sweep her off her feet and whisk her away again.

"Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Main Street, Cobalt Lane."

The words come out as an airy whisper, but they sound like a gunshot against the still night air. Her throat feels dry, like sandpaper, and her tounge sticks to the roof of her mouth, making it hard to even choke the words out.

Slowly, she moves again, curling her toes at the cold floor under the balls of her feet, and she makes her way to the kitchen.

The tile flooring of the kitchen isn't any warmer; in fact it's colder. It saps the heat from her body and she shivers violently.

She turns, pulling open one of the top cabinets and groping for the bottle of whiskey tucked away inside. It scrapes roughly against the wooden shelf as she pulls it down, the faint moonlight from the window shining on the glass.

She stares at it, debates with it internally.

 _ **'Why did you try to kill yourself, Jessica?'**_ _He'd asked her, seated in a plastic chair bedside the hospital bed, his long form folded awkwardly in it. His eyes were hard, his lips pulled into a scowl._ _**'Tell me the truth, now.'**_

_His voice had been scarily calm, but there was no less venom in his tone as there would be in a Black Mamba Snake. It struck her, and guilt stabbed her deep in the gut, words spilling from her mouth at his command._

_**'Because I hate it here. I hate being with you.'**_ _It's a simple statement; the truth. Exactly what he told her to say. Not what he wanted to hear though, she knows that. His face twisted in rage for a brief moment, before a chuckle erupted from his throat; humorless, angry, as if she were a child who had done something_ _**oh so stupid.**_ _So stupid, that it was funny. Like she'd accidently drawn on the walls._

 _ **'Oh, Jessica,'**_ _He started, his voice breathless, disappointment clear in his tone. A laugh bubbled into his voice, and his head shook slightly._ _**'That's just the pain medicine talking, love. You don't actually believe that. You love it here, with me. You want to be here with me.'**_ _He doesn't make the mistake of asking her anything, simply told her what to do; how to feel._

 _She died a little on the inside. She wanted to scream, say that no she wasn't happy, but she smiled, and she felt_ _**happy.**_

She twists the cap sharply, jerking herself from the _nightmare_ at the same time, pulling it off the bottle of whiskey and tossing a mouthful passed her lips roughly before making her way back to her bedroom.

She slides onto the bed, bottle in one hand and notebook in the other. She's not sure how long she sits there, back against the headboard, bottle occasionally moving up to her lips, spilling the burning liquor down her throat. It clears her head, clears the lingering purple fog for if but a few moments. It feels like hours that she sits there, but it couldn't have been more than ten mintues. Probably less than that.

Eventually, she flips on the bedside lamp, the golden light spilling into the room. It takes her a few moments, a few long moments, to adjust to the brightness.

When her eyes finally do, she scans the room. Her fingers twitch, her heart in her throat, nothing. Silence.

She's still alone; and she likes it.

She turns to the notebook, staring at the blank plastic cover, fingers tracing the spiral edge. What should she even write about? Dr. Young told her anything, but, well, that was anything. A broad topic, too big, too vauge.

"'They say, talking about a trauma helps.' Bullshit." She mutters to the notebook, but she gropes for a pencil inside the bedside table's drawer anyways, and bounces it between her thumb and index finger as she stares at the blank pages.

She starts with the date; January twenty-third. It's a stupid avoidance tactic, but it gives her a few more seconds to think.

Nothing comes to mind. Her mind is blank. _He_ told her not to tell anyone. To not speak a word of him.

Was she really telling anyone though? She wasn't. She was telling herself. Then, does that mean that she doesn't count as _anyone_? That she's _nothing, worthless, and ungrateful for what he did for her?_

_**'Why can you just see that I'm trying to help you!? You love me, right? Yes, yes you do.'** _

_"No."_ She thinks, but then, soon after; _"yes. Yes yesyes."_

She drops the pencil, her hands slapping up to her temples, pressing down on them _**hard**_.

 _'Get out, get out, get out. Get out of my head.'_ She thinks, and she wants to scream. She wants to kick and scream and shout that it's _not fucking fair_ that this has happened to her of all people.

Her brain stutters, it halts for a few seconds, and she's left with a brief few moments of _agony_ ; of _nothing_. She's overloaded, like she has too many open tabs running in the background that it slows her connection.

She can't tell what are her thoughts, and what is his voice anymore. Does she love him?

_"No. No I don't."_

Yes she does.

_"No. I don't."_

Yes.

_"No."_

**Yes.**

She chokes on nothing, on guilt, on a scream, gasping and dry heaving. Her fingers scramble to clutch the bottle of whiskey that had tipped over in her sudden flare of panic and disorientation, spilling on the sheets slightly. Her chest feels tight, her throat is closing up, and she gasps, pressing the mouth of bottle against her closed lips in hopes of keeping herself from throwing up whatever food she has eaten.

Then something clicks. A blip in her coding that soothes her; like a small misspelling of a command that allows her to think.

"Birch Street," she gasps, shaking.

_"Get out, get out getout."_

_**'You love me.'** _

"Hi-Higgins Drive." Again, she chokes it out, a soft airy sound that barely vibrates her vocal cords.

_"I don't, I don't Idon't."_

_**'Yes you do. Don't be silly, Jessie. You love me.'** _

"M-Main Street." And again, her voice shakes, her body heaves and quivers and she wants to cry.

_"No. No. Nonono."_

_**'Don't play games with me, love. You know what will happen if you do. I don't think that little boy will be very happy to have his mother bash her head in with that coat rack.'** _

"C-Cobalt L-Lane."

 _"Leave me alone. Alone alone alone. Leave leave leave. Go away. Get out out out out_ **_out_**."

Silence. This time there's silence.

Jessica jerks, her hand clapping over her mouth, a rough, ugly sob sounding in her throat. A whimper escapes pass her lips, and she shakes, trembling in fear and _oh God how she misses him. She misses him, misses him misseshim._

_"Come back, come back comeback."_

_"Don't leave. Don't leave me alone. Please please please."_

She pushes the notebook off her lap, dragging her knees to her chest, clapping her hands onto her head, her short nails digging _deep_ into her skull. She's unaware of the pain in her head that this action causes. A sharp throbbing pain that doesn't reach her nerves because all she can think of is the _agony. It hurts, it hurts ithurts._

Her chest hurts, her heart hurts. She wonders-

_"Why? Why did you leave me? Come back. Please."_

_"Don't go don't go don'tgo."_

**_'I'll always be here.'_ **

Arms, warm, gentle arms wrap around her. The scent of something filling her nose. She doesn't know what it is though, and lips press against her temple; soft, gentle. Then a voice-

"Go to sleep, Jessica."

_"Don't go. I need you."_

"I'm not going anywhere."

_"Don't leave. Please stay."_

"I'm not leaving you."

_"Come back. I miss you."_

"I never left you."

_"I love you."_

Blackness surrounds her, warm, comforting, and soft. It's bliss, beautiful bliss, with the smell of-

A sharp inhale, and a slow exhale. She savors it, relishes it in. Some part of her foggy, hazy brain likes the smell. It reminds her of _**love**_.

-lemon and spices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my Tumblr for updates, sneak peeks, and just general Jessica Jones trash:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/detective--animator


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the, what, two week dry spell of no updates? I've been busy, and updates are going to slow down as I near the end of this quarter of school. Thank you for understanding.
> 
> This chapter was a pain to write. I can't to fluff very well, and after last chapter, I think they both deserve a bit of a break. Anyways, enjoy this chapter.

Trish is worried; more than worried, she's terrified. She's tipped passed the worried and fallen into the _'terrified-for-Jessica'_ catagory.

So, when she jolts awake to Jessica's _screams_ and the shatter of glass, she's on her feet and out of her bedroom in a second flat.

Trish isn't prepared for what she sees. Not that she's sure what she to expected to see.

She recoils, jerking back and halting at the doorway of Jessica's bedroom. The scene, to Trish, is horrifying, surreal, and she wants to wake from the _nightmare_.

The covers on the bed are pushed to the foot of it, bunched up and half hanging off the bed, thrown away from furious movement. She catches the glint of shattered glass and liquid from the dim lighting bleeding from the bedside table's lamp.

"Jess?" She whispers hesitantly, staring at her best friend, who, looks in complete agony. Her knees pulled up to her chest, hands clapped over her head, wrists pressing against her ears, and she's babbling incoherently. Trish can't make out the words.

She's not sure if she wants to know what Jessica is saying. Or trying to say. Or imagining.

Trish pauses, before she takes one step, then another, and another until she's at the side of the bed.

Jessica sounds panicked, she sounds terrified. Trish can't make out what she's saying, it's just a string of syllables, of sound that comes out unintelligible and _panicked._ Her breathing is short and ragged and quick, her muscles tight, tension ripping through her body, making her stiff and motionless.

Trish moves, she pulls Jessica close, climbing into the bed beside her. She pulls Jessica into her arms and presses a kiss against her temple.

"Go to sleep, Jess." She whispers softly, reaching up to take Jessica's hands. There's resistance, and Trish gently pulls again, coaxing Jessica's fingers away from her head. "Relax," she soothes, gently taking Jessica's wrists in her own hands.

Her short nails come back tinted red, crusts of blood gathering at her fingertips.

"Oh, Jess," Trish breathes, a soft sympathetic sigh brushing pass her lips. Jessica doesn't react to her whisper, her eyelids having relaxed from their tightly closed look. Trish gently brushes her hand through Jessica's hair, sitting there for a few mintues, making sure that she is actually asleep before standing.

Trish pauses, looking at her friend before hurrying to get a washcloth. She's not sure if Jessica is still bleeding, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

She comes back, cradling the damp white cloth in her hand and gently sitting beside Jessica again. She carefully brushes a hand through her hair, finding the small crusts of blood gathering at the base of her hair, and ever so gently presses the cloth to her head.

It comes back tinted pink, but Trish is thankful that she doesn't appear to be bleeding anymore. With Jessica's strength, she could never be sure of the damage she could do to herself, or worse-at least to Jessica-others.

She stands back up, rinses the washcloth, double checks on Jessica after laying her down and tucking her in, before she moves to tend to the shattered bottle and puddle of whiskey on the floor.

She stops, pausing in sweeping up the last few pieces of glass into a dustpan, her eyes dragging to the open notebook on the floor.

Her heart stops, her breath hitches, and quickly sweeps up the last few pieces of glass.

She stands, holding the dustpan in one hand, small broom in the other, and stares at the open notebook.

She's not sure if she wants to read it. From the distance, she can't make out the words scrawled on it, if there are any, she can't exactly tell in the dim lighting.

Shaking her head, she pivots on her heel, tossing the glass into a trash bag and tying it closed. She'll throw it away after she's done.

Setting the dustpan and broom down, she steps over to it, approaching it with the caution of a wild animal.

She's just going to pick it up and close it. Set it down on the bedside table, and forget she saw it. She's not going to-

Her fingers close around the notebook, lifting it. The dim golden lighting of the bedside lamp painting the white paper a golden color.

It's blank, besides the date there's nothing written on it. Trish isn't sure if she's relieved or if this makes her more worried.

She shakes her head. _"It's better,"_ she thinks. _"I'm not tempted to read it."_ She reassures herself.

She closes it, setting it down on the table along with the pencil and shuts off the lamp.

\--

Jessica wakes up with a name on her lips, the ringing of tires screeching on pavement, and his shout of pain booming in her head as the bus collides with his body.

She doesn't remember if he shouted when the bus hit him, she assumes he did.

_"Come back."_

_"He's dead. Dead. He's gone. You saw it. He's dead. You're free."_

_**'Why didn't you do anything about it? You could've stopped that bus. Why did you just let me get hit?'** _

His voice; sharp, loud and booming in the base of her skull.

Her hands clap over her ears.

_"Shut up. Shut up, shut up shut **up**."_

_"I don't know. I'm sorry. Sorry sorry sorry."_

Silence. Her head is silent and she slowly lowers her hands, finally focusing on the room. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon, _not lemon and spices_ , hits her nose and she relaxes.

Slowly, she climbs out of bed, pinpricks of pain stabbing the top of her head, and she staggers slightly at the flare of dizzyness.

 _"What happened last night?"_ She thinks dimly, glancing around at the room.

She tries to remember, tries to think on what she did, on what happened, but she can't. Her brain stops working, and her body feels heavy at the thought.

She's exhausted.

Slowly, Jessica shakes her head, ignoring the slight stabbing pains that come from the action, walking out of the room.

Quietly, she fumbles into the kitchen, pausing at the counter to survey the scene she's just walked into.

Her eyes lock on Trish first, her hair pulled up into a messy bun, sleeves pulled up to her elbows, and her eyes are fixed firmly on what Jessica can only guess is a cookbook.

"You remember the last time you to tried to cook, right?" She says by way of greeting, causing Trish to jerk and glance up sharply.

"I thought you'd still be asleep." She says carefully, ignoring her jab, her face wary, sympathic.

Jessica shrugs her shoulders. She's not sure what to say, and instead settles for sitting at the counter. "But seriously," she starts, quick to change the subject. "What are you doing?"

Trish has the decency to look bashful, and she gestures to the pile of ingredients and utensils sitting on the counter.

"Making cookies." She answers, as if it's obvious. Jessica frowns, eyeing her skeptically.

"Why?"

"I felt like it."

"Trish, what's wrong? As bad as your cooking is, I know you stress bake, so what's wrong?" Jessica asks, unable to not be concerned. Trish hasn't stress baked in years. Not since they moved out of her mother's. "Is it your mom?" She asks, and inwardly grimaces at bringing it up.

Trish is silent, she turns back to the bowl.

"Do you want to help me?" She asks after a pause. Jessica falters at the sudden question, and it takes her a few moments to answer.

"Sure." She shrugs her shoulders. She's not going to push Trish to say what's on her mind. Trish hasn't pushed her to tell her what happened, it'd be stupid of Jessica to not have that same respect.

\--

It ends, unsurprisingly, in disaster.

Though, in Jessica's defense, Trish started it. Maybe.

Jessica actually isn't sure who started the flour war (it was probably her.), but the next thing she knows is that she's covered head to toe, collapsed on the ground in a fit of laughter.

It's refreshing, and she forgets, she forgets about _him_ , about the bus crash, about everything except what was going on in this exact moment.

She doesn't realize that she's smiling. Lips pulled back, corners of her mouth pulled up into a genuine smile, her arms wrapped around her ribs, heaving a breath into her lungs in between fits of laughter.

She sneezes as flour goes up her nose, and Trish giggles at that, offering a hand to help her up.

"You started it." Jessica blames breathlessly, once the laughing fit has subsided, her tone joking as she stands up.

" _I_ started it? _You_ were the one who decided to _'accidently'_ spill the flour!" Trish argues, but she's smiling and Jessica shoves her lightly.

"Like that time you _'accidently'_ microwaved a hot pocket still in the plastic?" She shoots back, and Trish scowls.

"That was one time!" She protests, and Jessica grins, her bare feet slipping on the flour that coated the tiled flooring.

"And do I need to mention the time to tried to pop popcorn over the stove and forgot to cover it? Kernels flew all over the place, Trish."

"Okay, that-"

"Or the time you-"

"Jess, I get the point." Trish interrupts sharply, shaking her head in amusement. "Though, you've done some stupid things that involve water and boiling."

"I was testing if I had invulnerability to heat!" Jessica protests, folding her arms over her chest.

" _By_ almost burning your finger off?"

"Excuse me for being curious over wondering what other powers I had." Jessica grumbles softly, scowling slightly.

"And your mind instantly went to heat resistance?" Trish laughs, walking over to the sink and grabbing a rag.

Jessica shrugs her shoulders, not sure how to reply to that. The mood sobers up quickly, and they both busy themselves with cleaning up the scattered flour on the floor and counters.

They finish up in surprisingly quick time, and Jessica glances down at her flour covered jeans and shirt. "I need a shower."

"Bailing on me before you can even see our creation?" Trish teases, grinning slightly. Her cheeks are still powdered somewhat white, her eyes light and carefree and kind, but Jessica knows, she can see under the brightness in her eyes that there's still that linger of concern in her gaze, hidden behind layers of laughter and amusement.

There's that desire to ask if she's okay, if she needs anything, neither of them mention it but they know that they're both acting a part.

Jessica shakes herself, forcing a grin back that still feels unnatural and twisted.

_**'Smile, Jessica.'** _

"Of course not," she says, quick to throw the light banter they have going, shaking herself from the voice that sounds too real, too close. "I'm sure we did everything perfectly."

"Besides the fact that we ended up with more flour on ourselves than in the actual cookies?" Trish jokes, and Jessica chuckles just slightly.

"You don't give us enough credit."

" _You_ give us to much credit!"

"Never said I was giving us any sort of credit. I'm expecting them to come out either really burnt or really salty." Jessica replies, raising her hands up in a defensive motion as she back out of the kitchen. "I'm going to shower, it takes fifteen mintues for cookies to bake, Trish, I'll be out in five."

\--

It takes surprisingly a bit longer than she expected to wash the flour out of her hair, and she wishes she could stay in longer, but the smell of fresh baked cookies slowly drags her out. Her fingers shrug on a fresh t-shirt, and she pulls on a pair of jeans before she makes her way into the kitchen again just as Trish is pulling out the tray.

"Well, they look okay." She says in greeting, her eyes flicking between the tray and then back to Trish.

"The one thing that matters is how they taste." Trish notes, looking up at her. "You go first." She adds, gesturing to the tray with her hand.

"Why?" She asks, but inwardly there's that desire to obey.

_**'Do as you are told, Jessica.'** _

"You're the one who suggested this." Jessica points out, shaking herself from the fleeting voice in her head.

"Yes, exactly, meaning you go first." Trish argues, and Jessica raises an eyebrow.

"Fine." Jessica relents, reaching out to pick up one of them, taking a bite. She grimaces, and catches Trish's look of _'quit-the-bullshit'_. "Are you sure we used sugar?" She asks after she swallows. She sees Trish blink, glancing between her and the cookie tray.

"Yes, I am." She says firmly, her tone confident.

"You're _sure_?" Jessica adds, turning her gaze down to the cookie with a frown.

"God damn it, Jess." Trish sighs, reaching for the ceramic container that people put various spices like salt and sugar in.

Jessica watches, taking another bite of the cookie as Trish pulls out a small pinch and tastes it.

"I should kill you." She mutters, reaching for one of the cookies and taking a bite. Jessica twitches her lips, shrugging innocently.

"Please, you'd be lost without me." Jessica says flippantly, her tone teasing, waving her hand.

_**'You're lost without me, Jessica. You'd be so, so lost without me.'** _

"And it's not my fault you don't trust me." She adds on before Trish can speak, giving her body a slight shake, and Trish sighs, shoving her shoulder.

"I trust you, you know that." She says, suddenly serious. Jessica just nods, sensing the mood change. "Do you trust me?" Trish asks after a beat, reaching to put the rest of the cookies on a plate and stack them neatly.

"Of course." Jessica doesn't hesitate, she answers quickly as she pulls down two mugs and fills them with milk.

They lapse in silence for a moment, and Jessica gently sets the mugs down the microwave to heat them up.

Neither of them speak, not until they're huddled on the opposite ends of the couch, sipping on hot chocolate, and watching some stupid game show.

"You don't have to answer this, but, do you think you'll ever be able to tell me what happen?" The question startles Jessica, and she inhales a mouthful of hot chocolate sharply, burning her tounge. She feels Trish start up, looking concerned, but Jessica waves her off.

"I don't know," she answers truthfully after she's calmed. "Doctor what's-his-face gave me a journal to write in. I can barely even-" She cuts off, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "I don't know." She repeats, firmer, taking another sip to signify that she's not going on. Trish is silent for a moment, before she nods.

"Okay, sorry for asking. It's just, last night, you-" Trish cuts off, shaking her head. Jessica shifts, looking at her silently, urging her to go on. "You had some sort of breakdown." Trish says, and Jessica can almost see the faint tremor in her hands.

Jessica looks away, turning to her mug silently. "Sorry." She says, instinctively. She sees Trish shake her head just slightly.

"No, don't apologize. I'm just..." Trish pauses, and she draws in a deep breath. "I'm scared for you. "

"Don't be." She replies, without the barest hint of hesitation. "Just..." She trails off, twisting her mouth in annoyance.

_**'Convince her you're fine, Jessica.'** _

Jessica shakes her head slightly, shifting on the couch. He had uttered that command so long ago, yet there was still that linger of _obey obey obey._ She's not sure if it's _her_ trying to protect Trish from what happened, preserve what little innocence Trish has left, or if it's just his commands still swimming her mind. "I'm fine, I'd tell you if something was wrong." She says finally before she can stop herself, tasting bitter at the lie. She takes another sip of her drink, hoping to rid her mouth of the taste.

Trish doesn't reply, not at first, instead she just nods her head. Jessica knows that Trish knows that she lied, Trish is to smart to fall for that bullshit.

"Okay." She says, and Jessica starts. The lack of Trish pushing to get information is surprising to her.

"Okay?" Jessica repeats, and Trish looks surprised this time.

"Do you want me to push you to tell me? Jess," Trish continues before she can answer. "I'm not going to push you to say anything. I just don't want you to shut me out, alright?"

"I'm not shutting you out." Jessica replies defensively, stiffening. She's not sure why she's angry at this, maybe she's not angry that the conversation, but the situation that put her in this hell hole. "Trish, please I'm-"

"If you say you're fine, I swear to god-"

"I'm _handling_ it. Kind of." She cuts in, and there's a tiny bit of betrayal in her gut. She disobeyed, or maybe it's because she's lying to Trish. Trish, who has given her more than she fucking deserves right now. Has put up with more of her shit than she should have too.

"Alright, just, talk to me if- _when_ -you can, okay?" Trish whispers, and Jessica watches as Trish reaches out, gently taking her hand. Trish gives it a squeeze, small and comforting, before pulling back. 

"Are you done?" Trish asks, motioning to the mug in Jessica's other hand. She shrugs, but nods her head and hands the mug to Trish.

"Thanks Trish," She starts, and it surprises both of them. "For... you know..." She throws a hand lamely in the air, and Trish nods, saving her from the awkwardness of having to explain.

"Don't thank me, Jess." Trish waves off, and Jessica twitches her mouth up slightly.

She just nods, and watches Trish hurry off to wash out the mugs. The silence in the apartment is cut through only occasionally by the running water or click of ceramic.

It's peaceful, Jessica decides as she tosses the remote onto the coffee table. She likes the comfortable silence Trish lets hang, expessically after the somewhat awkward conversation.

"Do you want to play a game? Monopoly or something?"

Jessica jumps slightly at Trish leans over the back the couch. She glances up, frowning at her best friend.

"We haven't play Monopoly in years." Jessica scoffs, and Trish giggles softly.

"So? Do we have to play Monopoly once a month in order to play it?"

"No," Jessica admits, "fine, we can play Monopoly, but I'm the top hat!" She calls after Trish, sitting up to watch her leave to go grab the board.

"You're always the top hat! What if I wanted to be the top hat?" Trish calls back, her voice growing louder as she comes back, followed by the sliding of the pieces inside the box.

"You're never the top hat, Trish. You're always the boot." Jessica deadpans as she turns around. Trish sets the box down, crossing her arms.

"And what if I want to be the top hat this time?" She asks, tilting her head. "I bought the game-"

"Bullshit, we bought it together. I remember counting the money to make sure we had enough."

Trish rolls her eyes, lightly pushing her shoulder and moves to sit down beside her. "Fine, fine, you're the top hat, but you're also the banker."

"You're trusting me with money?"

"Okay fine! Set the board, Jess, if you're not going to do anything else." Trish laughs, her tone teasing.

Jessica chuckles softly, shaking her head and moving to set up the board.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I have a rough idea on what I want and how I want this to end. We're looking at roughly 20-25 chapters. So, we're nearing the halfway point if all goes to plan.
> 
> As to this chapter, a lot of feelings. Some triggering stuff, Kilgrave being Kilgrave. And, we skip a month forward in time, to clear up any confusion.
> 
> And, I mentioned it in the comments of last chapter, but I'm going out of town next week, which is why you guys are getting more updates this week. There might be one or two more if I can finish them.

A month passes of suprisingly-or, rather, unsurprisingly-mundane tasks. Jessica's life has reached that point of nothingness. She wakes up, eats and watches TV, sometimes with Trish if she's home off from work, if not it's by herself.

It'd taken a lot of pushing to get Trish to go back. Jessica doesn't regret it though.

Those are the worse days, though. The days he haunts her the most. Sits beside her, making snide comments on anything and everything. Some days she can almost picture him lounging in the couch beside her, arms propped on the back, feet resting on the coffee table.

It terrifies her, and she tries to ignore him until he finally leaves her alone. She's gotten better at it, but there's still that spark of need, of obedience that she can't seem to shake. Just hearing his _voice_ sends her into a tense panic. Some days he doesn't leave until Trish gets home. Those are the days she hates the most.

It's barely enough to not convince herself that she's going insane, that she's shouldn't be locked up in some mental hospital. The thought terrifies her, and she drowns them in the bottles of whiskey.

She still hasn't touched the journal, not since that night of the mental breakdown, much to Dr. Young's grief, or disappointment. She's not sure which it is, but it's one of the two. Or maybe she's just telling herself that.

He doesn't push her too write in it either. Just tells her to _take it slow, one day at a time. You'll write when you're ready._

It's all standard bullshit platitudes. He probably says it to everyone.

Today, is one of the good days though. Kilgrave's presence is little to none, which is surprising because she's home alone today. Trish had some stupid guest star on today. Jessica doesn't know the name, nor does she exactly care.

She's thought about tuning in, listening to her talk show, just to hear Trish's voice. She never does, and draws back on herself before she can even think about turning the radio on.

So, she spends the better part of the morning in bed, scrolling through her laptop. She's not sure what she's doing, maybe trying to find something to distract herself with.

She sighs, pushes the laptop off her lap, and stands to go get another bottle of whiskey. She moves to open the cabinets, groping at the shelf with a frown.

Empty. She'll have to go to the corner store for the cheap stuff, because all she has is a ten, and she's not mooching off of Trish any more than she is already.

Maybe she should find an apartment. That way she's not mooching off of Trish anymore, not Trish seems mind, or so she says.

Jessica shakes her head, drawing in a deep breath, and heads to grab her jacket from her bedroom floor.

She stops, midway to shrugging into the leather jacket, arms posed slightly as something catches her eye.

A hint of fur, tan and crusted with red and brown, shoved back in the dark emptiness of her closet. She care barely make it out.

She shakes slightly as it registers in her head, remembering the cold against her cheeks, blood on her knuckles from digging. Her arms aching from the cold and from swinging the axe hard enough to break the pavement.

_**'Take care of her.'** _

The chill in her bones as she stops that woman's heart with a swing of her fist.

She's shaking, and something of a sob wracks through her body. She chokes, hands cupping her mouth as she dry heaves in panic. She can't breathe, _she can't breathe_. Panic claws tight at her chest, suffocating her and squeezing her lungs tight like an eagle might grasp a fish in its talons. Her fingers scrabble for purchase on the end of the bed, her knees locking under her as she sucks in a few breaths that barely satisfy her need for air.

She'd forgotten about it. Getting rid of his _gifts_ , the jacket, the dress she wore under it; _pretty and deep violet and she looked so, so beautiful_. That all seemed so insignificant.

_**'You should appreciate what I gave you, Jessica.'** _

_**'You love it, you look lovely. You're beautiful.'** _

She's not sure how long she sits there. It couldn't be more than a mintue, but it feels like hours.

"Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Main Street, Cobalt Lane." She whispers, over and over, trying to slow her breathing. She shuts her eyes, focuses on the smells around her, and slowly the attack subsides. Her heart slows, the heated flush under her skin slowly fades leaving her cold. So, so cold she's chilled, freezing at the lost of _something._

She waits a moment or two, waits until she's sure she can stand, before she rises and carefully approaches the coat. Like a person trying to show an animal they mean no harm, she lowers her hand, fingers brushing the fur before closing around it.

She lifts it, and despite her strength it feels _heavy_. The coat is like a five hundred pound weight in her hand, blood crusting the fur near the end of the sleeves. She shakes slightly, sniffing in the faintest of whiffs of his colonge that still clings to the fur.

Lemon and spices. Sharp and pungent and suffocating.

A sudden burning stab of desire hits her at the smell. It's sharp, unwarranted and it _hurts_.

 _"I miss you."_ She thinks absently, staring at the mound of fur in her hands. It's a traitorous thought, a fleeting ache in her chest because she misses him. Her fingers move, unconsciously stroking the soft textures of the hair.

Jessica gives herself a quick shake, snapping herself out of the trance, and forces her legs to move as she wanders to the kitchen. She pulls out a few plastic grocery bags that Trish insists on keeping, and quickly shoves the coat inside one, before bagging it twice more.

Once she's finished with that, she stops. The coat is now out of her sight. Just a heap of plastic now that sits patiently on the counter, waiting to be disposed of.

She stares hard at it, leaning her hands against the counter, lips pressed together in a twist of distaste.

_Screeching tires, the chill in her bones, numbing the ache in her hands. She feels afraid, she feels scared. She feels-_

Angry. She feels angry. Rage surges through her gut, hot and burning. Her fist hits the counter in frustration, hard enough to crack it but she doesn't care. Trish certainly will, but she doesn't. She pushes off of the counter, snagging the plastic bag by the handles roughly as she stomps passed it.

The door of the apartment clicks shut behind her, and she exits the building the one purpose.

\--

She tosses the coat in the furthest dumpster from Trish's apartment. The farther away from her it is, the better.

Jessica sighs, she drops her shoulders and continues walking again. She's barely made it a block away when cold, icy horror grips her chest that _almost_ makes her stumble.

This is the first time she's been out alone since she escaped.

She shifts, tugging her jacket tighter around her, zipping it up. Her boots thump against the pavement as she power-walks down the sidewalk.

There's something liberating about being out alone. It's a calming, soothing idea, but there's also something terrifying about it. What if he's been waiting for her? What if he's sitting in some coffee shop waiting to catch her alone? Sweep her off her feet and laugh, tell her that she found this funny, that she loved it.

She stops, breathes in, and then breathes out.

 _"Don't think about it, damn it. You're just being ridiculous now."_ She scolds herself, hands closing into fists in her pockets.

"Fuck, get a hold of yourself, Jones." She hisses under her breath out loud, and she wants to scream, throw her fists against the wall until they crack and bleed and she's broken every bone in her hand.

Jessica stops, standing under the outcrop of a shop, just as a drop of rain hits the pavement.

She frowns, tilts her head upward to the sky, and studies the dark grey clouds she failed to notice when she left. Has she really been that out of it? Apparently so.

Slowly, Jessica shakes her head, raising a hand to rub her eye. She stands there for a few mintues, ignoring the passing pedestrians. The rain gets harder, slowly, until it starts pouring buckets.

Jessica exhales a breath, watches it for a moment longer, before she starts walking again.

\--

The police station isn't as empty as Jessica had hoped it would be. She'd hoped she'd be able to sneak in, ask some officer, and be out in less than five mintues.

But no, everyone and their mother had to get a parking ticket or some bullshit like that today. Just her luck.

Jessica sighs, lightly kicking the ground and occasionally glancing up for when it's her turn.

She shifts, kicks the ground again, and looks up at line again. She continues it a few more times, trying to do something to take her mind off of everything. A sharp spark on anxiety hits her after the fifth go around of _kick, look up, and repeat_. She almost turns and walks out, but she doesn't, she can't. She's come to far now.

A few more mintues pass, and she steps up to the counter hesitantly, her footsteps slow. Her heart pounds in her chest, her stomach twists, and it takes her a second to speak.

She didn't think she'd be this messed up. This was a mistake.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could look something up for me?" She starts after what feels like a too-long pause. "It would've been a bus crash, about a month back? Outside that abandon building, bus turned on it's side." The officer pauses, his eyes flicking over her quizzedly.

"I'm a journalist for the _Daily Bulge_ ," she adds on quickly, a lame excuse, but she hopes it works. "I'm doing an article in the paper about it. I just needed to know if anyone died. I know one woman did, I just wasn't sure if anyone else was killed." She manages a forced smile as she says this, shifting on her feet. "I want to get my facts right."

The officer eyes her skeptically for a second, before he turns to the computer. She hears the click of the keyboard, followed by the sound of the printer whirring to life.

She relaxes, watching as he pulls the papers out of the printer. He slides them into an envelope, before passing them to her.

Jessica manages a smile in thanks, but it still feels twisted and forced. Turning her back with the envelope tucked under her arm, she drops the smile. "Moron." She mutters under her breath, because it eases her anxiety, pushing the door open as she exits the building.

She stops under the outcrop of the station, shuffling to get out of the way of the door, eyeing the envelope in her hands. With care, she folds it small enough to slide into her inner jacket pocket. She can't afford to let these get wet.

Slowly, Jessica sighs, her fingers stroking her hood as she flips it up over her head, moving to start off to the nearest convenience store.

She's going to need a fuck ton of alcohol if she wants to get through today.

\--

She arrives home with a bottle of whiskey or three, half soaked with rain water, and an uneasy feeling twisting in her stomach. The apartment is quiet, signifying that Trish still isn't home yet.

Which, in Jessica's opinion, is good. She has time to look through whatever the officer gave her without Trish asking what it is. Without Trish poking and prodding.

She's sure Trish would back off if she asked, but she'd rather save herself the trouble.

Quietly, she shrugs off her jacket, hanging it on a peg on the nearby coat rack and digging the envelope out of it. She inspects it, studying it to make sure there isn't any water damage, before nodding slightly and swiping a hand through her damp hair.

She turns, falling onto the couch and staring at the folded envelope, gently smoothing it out with the care of holding something glass and valuable.

Something that might shatter if handled too roughly.

It might as well be, in her eyes as she gingerly sets it down on the table with the caution of a bomb. This could break her, if there isn't anything about Kilgrave in these files, then he's still-

Jessica shakes her head, pressing her fingers against her eyes, gritting her teeth.

"Stop that. Fucking get over yourself, Jones." She hisses, breath sliding harshly through her teeth. She's angry, angry that even now with him gone she's letting him win by still letting him control her.

In one fluid motion, she uncaps one of the bottles of whiskey, tipping a burning mouthful passed her lips. It burns as it moves down her throat, and it feels good.

She drops her arms, resting her elbows on her knees, bottle dangling between her legs in her hand. Her eyes drag up to the envelope resting on the coffee table, staring hard at it as if it'll open itself and reveal whatever horrid secrets hidden inside of it.

She tosses back another mouthful, until half the bottle is gone, feeling the faint hum of intoxication run through her veins. A numb, warm feeling spreads through her stomach, and she pushes back all emotion as she reaches for the envelope.

She pulls the papers out, staring at them for a few moments but not registering what is on them.

The first is an article on the bus crash, a small little blurb about it, with the picture of a young woman- _the_ young woman, the one she killed so, so easily-plastered on the newsprint.

She pulls her eyes away, setting it down before turning to the next paper.

This one is thicker, more like cardstock. It's official looking, signed by some doctor she doesn't know, with several boxes on it, all filled out. A blueish trim decorates the edges, the patterns twisting and curving as her eyes flick over it.

Her brain registers three things though. Three simple, little things that take her breath away and give her life at the same time.

**Certificate of Death**

**John Doe**

**Cause of Death: Collison with Vehicle-Crush Syndrome**

The words blur, and she gingerly sets it down with a shaking hand, pressing her other hand against her mouth as she chokes on a sob. Her eyes sting with tears, and she lets out a small sound in the back of her throat.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the death certificate through blurry vision. She's trying so, so hard not to cry, because that's weak. She's not going to let him win, she's-

The shatter of glass brings her out of her head, loud and ringing in her ears just like the bus horn. She realizes that she's standing, breathing harshly as she stares blankly at the bits of glass that scatter the wooden floor.

She blinks, her body sways as the world tilts and she realizes she actually pretty drunk right now. She staggers, trying to keep her footing but she can't. She can't, she can't, she _fucking_ can't.

She feels like her world has been ripped away, but that doesn't make sense. He's not... He was never her _world_.

**_'I'm the only one who could ever be with you. No one else could ever understand you like I do.'_ **

**_'Don't you see? We're meant to be together. You want to be with me!'_ **

**_'Tell me you love me.'_ **

A numbness sets into her bones, heavy and cold, unlike the warm, pleasant numbness she felt earlier with the whiskey. This one is cold and absolutely _unbearable_. Her knees lock under her and she falls back into the cushion, sinking down and slouching down low.

She's not sure what to do. She feels lost, like a small child in a big store that wandered to far away and can't find her mother or father.

That had happened to her once, she had been four and had seen a pretty dollhouse, because what little girl didn't want a dollhouse? Even at her age, tomboy with dresses and hightops, she had wanted a dollhouse. Maybe not for the reasons other girls wanted them, but she still had been enthralled by it. She remembers crying when realized she'd lost her parents, and had ran to nearest adult she saw. Together, they'd managed to locate her parents, who, coincidentally, had been looking for her too.

She lets out a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and sob. Slowly, she curls in on herself against the arm of the couch, laughing and crying at the same time. It's an ugly sound, but she feels something, something over the numbing frost in her bones.

**_'Come on, Jessie. You're happy, right? Give me a smile, love.'_ **

"No." She rasps out loud, choking on a laugh. It's liberating, her fingers twitch and they find the next bottle of whiskey. Her fingers fumble with the cap, twisting and turning it until it pops off.

She tosses back a mouthful, swallowing with an exhale as the the world blots around her. Colors blur together, shapes twist into unrecognizable forms and she chokes back on another strangled sob.

She's not sure how long she sits there again, sipping whiskey and half-crying, half-grinning faintly She's not exactly sure why she's crying. Surely she doesn't feel guilty?

_**'It's your fault. You could've stopped that bus, you're strong enough, so why didn't you?!'** _

No. She's not feeling fucking guilty for his death. She's not. It wasn't her fault, right?

_She remembers freezing. That cold, numbing horror as she watches the bus smack hard against his body._

Jessica flinches just slightly, her fingers tighten on the bottle, and she tips it back to swallow the last mouthful in that bottle.

It's not enough to block it out.

 _And then, there's that desire to run. Run to him and shout his name and rant on about how much of a_ _**fucking**_ _idiot he is, cup his face in her hands and shake him to wake him up. Because she loves him, doesn't she? Isn't that what you do when you love someone and they get hurt?_

Her fingers limply toss the next empty bottle to join the other shattered bottle on the ground. It's a sluggish, sloppy movement, but she doesn't care. She flinches at the sound, and remembers all the times he got angry. Kilgrave always gave off the cool, collected personal, but his temper was poisonous. A snake just waiting for the right moment to strike.

 _ **'What?'**_ _She watched as his body stiffened, shoulders bunched up and tight as he turned go face her. His face was cold, a cool, collect mask, but his eyes were a different story. Sharp, they danced over her face as he stepped towards her slowly, almost black with anger._

 _ **'You heard me.'**_ _It'd been the first time she'd stood up to him in a while. Sometimes, he'd forget to be very specific with his commands. He'd get used to her never questioning his orders._ _**'I don't want to be here.'**_

 _She wasn't entirely sure if she'd meant here as in the hotel room, or with him. She liked to think she meant the latter, but she_ _**loved being with him.**_ _So she couldn't possibly had meant that._

 _Kilgrave, of course, had taken it as a personal offense. A laughing scoff escaped his lips, mouth pulling into a sneer._ _**'You don't mean that-'**_

 _ **'I do.'**_ _She'd interrupted him, a burst of confidence had exploded forth and he hadn't told her that she couldn't talk back, not yet. So she was going to get as much out as she can while she has her free will._ _**'I do mean it. I hate being here with you. I hate the fancy dinners. I hate the dresses you make me wear. I hate how you make me-'**_

_A shatter of glass had cut her off, and one quick look told her that the nice set of champagne glasses had been thrown against the floor. Champagne glasses he'd specifically asked for._

_**'Shut up, now.'**_ _Kilgrave's voice had followed the sound, leering over her with a burning gaze as he looked up at her. She obeyed without question, and watched as he slowly exhaled._ _**'Oh you silly, silly girl.'**_ _He'd chuckled this time, as if she was a child throwing an adorable temper tantrum and he found it amusing. There was something dark and cold about it though. It lacked the humor a normal laugh would have._

_He raised a hand to lightly stroke his fingers against her cheek._

_**'You don't mean that. You love it here, Jessie. You love me. Now, pick up the mess you made, love.'** _

The sound of the door opening drags her out of her flashback. She twitches, gasping in a sharp breath that barely reaches her lungs as she sits up. Her eyes flick over to the mess of glass on the floor and panic stabs her chest hard. She stands quickly, staggering as the world tilts.

"Jess?" Trish's voice rings from the foyer of the apartment, fuzzy and somewhat hallow in her ears. Jessica curses softly, before she sighs in defeat. She can barely stand, she's certainly not going to be able to clean up anything before Trish takes the however many seconds to walk into the living room.

She falls back, and furiously rubs her eyes. She's pretty sure it's going to be obvious she was crying regardless of what she does.

"Jess, what happened?"

Trish's voice pulls her gaze up. A sudden sense of detachment hits her, and she shugs despondently.

"Tripped." She lies, her voice coming out slurred and it's such a fucking horrible lie but she really doesn't care because he's dead. 

He's dead and gone and _what's the point of living if he's not here?_ He's dead and gone and _fuck she's so happy that he is._

"Jess, I'm not stupid." Trish's eyes burn with concern, never once leaving her face, and Jessica feels the couch dip beside her. "Talk to me, what is all this?" She watches Trish toss a hand out to the folder and papers laid out on the table. Jessica blinks, then shrugs again.

"He's dead," she mumbles, sounding like a child, staring down at the papers. She's not sure what makes her say it, the alcohol, she assumes "Christ, _Trish_ ," she says, breathing Trish's name like a prayer. "He's fucking dead and he-" She cuts off, sucking in a breath. She reaches for the bottle, but Trish swipes it before she can grasp the neck.

"No, Jess, you're drunk. Go sleep it off, okay? We can talk when you're sober." Trish says gently, standing up. "Come on." Her fingers gently curl around her upper arm, pulling her up.

"But I need too-"

"You need to sleep, Jess."

Jessica shifts, she digs her heels into the ground, pulling back. "God damn it, Trish!" She snaps-she's frustrated and drunk and exauhsted-slipping out of Trish's grip. "I need to tell you-"

"I'm not going to listen to you while you're drunk. Your judgement is impared, now come on."

Jessica shakes her head, though, she knows Trish is right, somewhere in her head. Somewhere she knows she isn't thinking straight, that whatever she says Trish isn't going to take to face value because she is, undoubtedly, drunk off her ass.

She has to though. She has to do something, say something. Her fingers reach out, lightly grabbing Trish's upper arm. "Trish, _please_ -" She begs this time, desperate for her to understand that she has to do this.

"Jess..." Trish cuts in again, this time her own tone his pleading.

"I just..." Jessica blinks, she staggers slightly and stares hard at the wall passed Trish. She feels Trish's hand gently raise to steady her. "I need to..." She starts, fumbling over the simple act of speaking. She can't speak. The words get lodged in her throat, choking her.

_**'Do not speak a word about me, Jessica. We can't have people knowing about us, hm? It'll be our little secret. You love secrets.'** _

_**'Besides, no one will believe you anyways. You'll be, ah, laughed at, maybe even locked up in a loony bin; and we can't have that, can we?'** _

"Jess, you're drunk. You need to sleep." Trish says firmly. Jessica drops her shoulders, staring at Trish quietly. "Alright? I promise, when you are sober later tonight, you can tell me." Trish's voice is still firm, a solid promise to listen to what she has to say. Jessica can hear it, and she finds Trish's eyes, firm and gentle and concerned.

Jessica blinks again, opening and closing her mouth like a fish gasping for air for a few moments before she nods mutely.

"'Kay." She mumbles finally, and Trish's hands slide up-warm and soothing and gentle-wrapping around her waist. She pauses, letting Trish gently lead her to the bedroom. "Hey, Trish?"

"What, Jess?" Trish replies, her tone gentle and soothing. There's an underlying note of curiousity in her voice.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For..." Jessica tosses a hand out. "This. For putting up with my shit. For not... Leaving." She decides, and she sees Trish frown.

"Why would I leave, Jess?" She asks, and Jessica shrugs.

"Cause I'm fucked up. I fuck everything up. I-"

"Jess... You're not a fuck up. I don't want you ever thinking that."

"Saying it doesn't make it true!" Jessica says frustratingly, scowling at the floor as Trish gently lowers her to the bed. "I am fucked up, Trish. Once you hear what happened, what I did-"

"I will think nothing less of you." Trish cuts in, her tone firm, finishing her sentence before Jessica can finish it herself. "Jess, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?" Trish's fingers grip her shoulders tight, forcing Jessica look up. "Okay?"

"Okay." She mumbles, nodding slightly. "Okay." Trish's fingers slacken around her shoulders and she sits on the bed beside her. There's a brief pause as they just sit there for a moment, before, finally, Jessica speaks up.

"Trish?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna throw up."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are gonna hate me for this chapter.
> 
> Forewarning, mentions of implied rape, Kilgrave being, well, Kilgrave, and panic attacks. As well as the usual suspects with this show. You should know the drill.
> 
> And, we have a set number of chapters now! Still might change, but I doubt it. I think I have set idea of where this is going, and how it'll end.
> 
> I also want to note that I struggled with this chapter a lot. The confession was the main struggle for me, because I did not not want it to be downplayed or sidelined, as that's what the entire previous chapters have been leading up too. I'm still not satisfied with it, if I'm being frank, but that's just me.

Mercifully, or perhaps she was too drunk, Jessica sleeps like a log.

Which, Trish is grateful for, because Jessica needs rest.

Trish breathes out a sigh through her nose, gently brushing a strand of hair back from Jessica's face before standing up.

There's still the mess in the living room, and Trish absently wonders how many more empty broken bottles she'll be cleaning up.

Not that she minds, but she worries. She worries about what will happen when the shattered bottles aren't enough, when it'll escalate into something uglier or harmful.

Jess would never hurt her, of course, but herself, is another question. After all, Jess drunkenly admitted that she was suicidal. Had been suicidal. Is still suicidal? Trish doesn't know, and she's to scared too ask.

Carefully, she exits Jessica's room, leaving the door cracked and enters the living room, grabbing a dust pan and broom out of the closet as she passes it.

Trish quietly sweeps up the glass, depositing it in the trash and tying the bag before she turns to the papers and bottle of whiskey she'd set on the coffee table.

She tactfully pulls her gaze from the papers. She's not invading Jessica's privacy. She _will not_ do that.

Expessically not after Jess's reaction to the impromptu scheduled therapy session. She's lucky, Trish muses bitterly, that Jess didn't completely shut her out then. She probably would have herself.

She picks up the bottle, studying the label with mild interest. It's the cheap stuff, one of those no name brands that Jess would get at the corner store.

It clicks in her mind, and she glances up slightly towards the door.

Jessica had actually left the apartment on her own?

Now, sure, _maybe_ it wouldn't be some big thing, but considering Jessica had barely been out of the apartment since she got back...

Trish isn't sure if it's progress, but it's something, and she smiles just slightly as she moves to set the bottle down in the cabinet, closing the door quietly.

Trish turns, staring at the stove in the urge to start cooking. She's not even sure if she has any sort of ingredients in the fridge to cook anything.

She could go out, but the thought of leaving Jess home alone makes her nervous.

Trish sighs, crossing to sit on the couch, putting her head in her hands. Her mind is running circles, trying to find out what exactly happened to Jess.

She doesn't want to know, she realizes. She doesn't want to know what broke Jess so bad she can barely handle being offered a choice for _dinner_ without looking like she's about to panic.

But, at the same time, she wants to know so she can help. So she knows what she should and shouldn't be doing. She's managed to figure some things out but judging Jessica's reaction, but she still not sure if she's doing the right thing.

Trish rubs her eyes, taking in a few breaths before looking up at the papers scattered along the coffee table. Her fingers itch to grab them, read them, but instead, she stands up, pacing the floor.

She needs to talk to someone, just to prepare herself, maybe grasp some advice in what to do, what she should or can expect.

Trish brushes her hair back, reaching for her phone and scrolling through her contacts.

"Hey, Dr. Young? It's Trish." She breathes when the phone is picked up, leaning back on the couch.

 _"Yes, Trish, how are you?"_ Dr. Young's voice is suprisingly soothing, his tone calm and gentle. Trish is grateful for it.

"I'm fine, it's just... I'm worried about Jess."

 _"How is she?"_

"Not good." Trish admits, looking down. "I'm just... I was wondering..." Trish fumbles, because she's not sure if she'll get answer, well, she knows she won't. And if she happens to get an answer, she's not sure if she wants to hear it. "Has Jess told you anything? About... what happened?" She pushes out before she can rethink it.

 _"You know I can't disclose that with you, Trish."_ Dr. Young said patiently, and Trish sighs with a nod.

"Yes, I figured. I just, she seemed to _want_ to tell me something, but, it's like she couldn't." She admits, and she hears Dr. Young hum softly.

 _"I can give you some advice. Don't push her to speak. Let Jessica speak on her own, try to hold your comments in until she's done."_ Dr. Young advised carefully. Trish nods her head, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, I got that. I'm just, worried about her."

 _"It's okay to be worried, Trish. You're a great friend to Jessica. She needs you, now more than ever."_ Dr. Young says calmly. _"I know you wish you could do more, but what you've been doing is what she needs right now."_

Trish nods, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Thanks, Dr. Young." She says, and after a quick goodbye and a promise to call should she or Jessica need too, she hangs up, setting her phone down on the couch beside her.

She bounces her leg up slightly, before standing sharply and heading over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a packet of papers off the desk and flipping through them.

She really needs to get their next show sorted out, if any guests are coming on, what they're going to talk about.

Her eyes flick across the page, but she's not exactly reading it. Her brain can't process the words, and she ends up just sliding the papers down on the counter again and placing her head in her hands.

"Shit." She curses softly, raising her head to look at the clock on the microwave. It was nearing six in the evening, and she knew Jessica would probably be hungry when she woke up.

Straightening up, Trish crosses the way over to grab her phone, calling the nearby pizza place.

\--

Jessica wakes up with a sharp throb in her temples. She winches, twisting her lips as she raises her hand to rub her forehead.

"Shit." She breathes as the earlier conversation rushes back to her, slowly sitting up, but that makes the throbbing worse and she sags back down, closing her eyes again.

She opens them when the door slides open, a soft click resonating through the room as Trish steps in. She doesn't say anything, just walks over to set a glass of water and some ibuprofen next to her.

The air gets heavy, Jessica can feel the tension in the air. She can see the millions of questions on Trish's face, the furrow of concern in her eyebrows.

"Are you okay?" Trish asks, her voice shattering the silence. Jessica blinks once, shifting to sit up slowly, hoping to not explode her head due to the pounding drumming in her ears.

Jessica isn't sure what to say to that, and bides herself a few moments with swallowing the pills and draining the glass.

She glances down, her thumb lightly stroking the cool surface as she thinks on what to say.

"No." She settles on, and then rethinks her answer. "I don't know. My head hurts."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you consume two bottles of whiskey." Trish says lightly, a failed attempt of humor, but Jessica appreciates the effort anyways. She twitches her lips upward just slightly, barely even a half-smile. "I ordered pizza, it just arrived, if you want..."

"Yeah, sounds good. Maybe..." Jessica pauses, she thinks on what to say before she actually says it. "Maybe after we eat, I can..."

"Jess," Trish cuts her off gently, and Jessica leans into the warm touch on her cheek slightly as Trish pulls her head up to look at her. "Let's eat first. One step at a time, alright?"

"Alright."

\--

Dinner is, unsurprisingly, silent. Jessica can't bring herself to find something to talk about, so she pokes at her slice of pizza, only having managed a few small bites before nausea took over.

She's not sure if it's just the hangover, or the sickening feeling in her gut. Unless if the sickening feeling has to do with the hangover.

She doubts it though. She's use to hangovers. The alcohol helps with the nightmares.

"You finished?" Trish's voice startles her, her tone calm and soft, and Jessica looks up. She nods mutely, handing the plate to her.

Jessica shifts, watching Trish go silently. It's only a few moments later that she sits back down on the opposite end of the couch.

"I, uhm..." She starts, and watches Trish shift slightly from the corner of her eye. She doesn't say anything, just simply watches her quietly. "I don't..." Jessica swallows thickly. "I don't know where to start."

"Take your time. You don't-"

"Yes, I do." Jessica cuts Trish off, sliding a glance over at her. She watches Trish nod, and Jessica quickly looks down at the papers.

She's not sure where to start. Should she just come out and say it? She doubts _'Hey I was kidnapped by a mind controller who raped me.'_ would go over well. On both of their parts.

"You remember that night I went out, the, the last time you saw me before I-" She cuts off, sucking in a breath. She sees Trish nod her head slightly.

"Well, I didn't, I was..." Jessica fumbles, curling her fingers around the hem of her shirt like a child holding a blanket. "... I don't know." Her fingers tighten, she wants to punch something, she wants to fucking dig her fingers onto her skull, rip the information out, and just give it to Trish.

"Deep breaths, Jess." Trish whispers, and she sees her reach out.

Jessica pulls back, shifting away from Trish.

"Don't, alright? I just... I need to do this." Jessica breathes, "you need to know what... I need to tell you. I need to tell someone." She pushes out through her teeth. She sees Trish nod, and she settles back down on her end of the couch.

There's a few beats of silence, long and deafening as Jessica gathers her thoughts.

_"Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Main Street, Cobalt Lane."_

"I was, taken, no," Jessica pauses, drawing in a deep breath. "Kidnapped. I think, that's the right word."

She sees Trish open her mouth to speak, but seems to think better of it.

"But... but I _wanted_..." Jessica cuts off, pressing her lips together. Her vision blurs, a sharp sting coming to her eyes.

Slowly, she breathes in, then exhales shakily. She blinks until her vision clears.

Her eyes skip over the papers, not exactly focusing on them as she thinks.

"God damn it, Trish.... I can't." She chokes out, raising her hand to press it against her mouth as bile raises in her throat. "He fucking-" She chokes again, not looking at Trish, turning her eyes to the ceiling and staring hard at it.

"He, Kilgrave," his name comes out shaky, a bitter taste filling in her mouth. "He took me. He, he made me-" She sucks in another breath. "I wanted, he made me want to-Fuck!"

Jessica stands up, crossing the room, ignoring Trish's following eyes. She reaches up to pull down the bottle of whiskey down, pulling off the cap roughly and tossing back a mouthful.

Trish remains silent, watching with wide, worried eyes. Jessica hates it, and she falls back onto the couch, shrinking against the arm rest.

She's silent for what feels like hours, not sure what to say. How to say anything. She doesn't know.

"Do you," she pauses, twisting her mouth into a grimace. "Do you remember that, night I didn't come home? Then I called you a few days later saying that I was... That I was fine?" Jessica glances at Trish, her head tilting to the side, eyes flicking over her face.

Trish opens and closes her mouth for a few moments, clearly thinking back. After a moment, she nods her head.

"God, Trish, he," she draws in a breath, then exhales slowly. She just needs to focus on saying it. _"Don't think about what he did. Just say it."_

"Kilgrave, he, he can control minds. Or, I think that's how it works. He's another... Gifted. I know, it sounds... stupid, but, god Trish..." She rambles slightly, tossing back another mouthful of whiskey.

_**'You love this, Jessica.'** _

"He... made me... run away with him. We went so many places-"

 _ **'Barcelona sounds nice, doesn't it? Have you ever been?'**_ _He asked her, laid out on a hotel bed, tapping away on his laptop, looking at flights._ **_'Jessica? I asked you a question, I expect you to answer.'_**

 _ **'No. I've never been.'**_ _She answered, her voice quick, eager to please. She was curled up on the other side of the bed, trying to keep as much space between them._

_**'Come here, Jessica. You're cold.'** _

"I was stripped of basically everything. I was... made his doll." The words taste bitter in her mouth. "His... perfect, happy, little delusion."

"Did... did he... Sorry, I..." Trish starts, but she stops abruptly with a shake of her head. "Go on. I'm listening."

Jessica lets out a small laugh, harsh and ragged in her throat as tears prick her eyes. "Yeah, to answer your question. He did."

It feels good to get it off her chest.

"He made me do a lot of things." She continues, before she can lose her nerve. Her fingers grasp the bottle, and she polishes off whatever is left inside.

She's starting to feel it's effects now, the faint, warm hum in her veins, the faint cloudiness in her mind. It feels good.

**_'Tell me you love me.'_ **

"He... Made me love him." She pushes out, her fingers flexing along the neck of the empty bottle. "And I did. God damn it, Trish, I loved him so much but I fucking-" She cuts off, sucking in a sharp, trembling breath. "Trish I don't-"

Trish's hands gently move to touch her shoulders, her grip gentle and loose, giving Jessica the ability to move away if she wanted too. Jessica flinches just slightly, looking away from Trish, fighting the tears that burn her eyes.

"I miss him so fucking much. I-I need him, Trish. I need him so much-"

"Jess..." Trish cuts her off, and the gentle tone makes flinch again. She doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to see the laughter on Trish's face. The snide response of _'You're just saying this all for attention! Mind control? You're hilarious, Jess. Quit fooling around!'_

_**'No one will ever believe you, Jessica. Not even perfect little Trish. She'd laugh at you if you told her, wouldn't she? She'd call you insane, lock you up in some cell with a straight jacket. I mean, mind control? The notion is rather, silly, isn't it?'** _

_"Yeah, it is. She won't believe me. She'll just laugh. This was a mistake."_

"Jess, look at me." Trish whispers, cutting into her thoughts, and Jessica shakes her head.

"No... I don't..." A sob burns in her throat, and she swallows hard, trying so hard not to break down into tears. "You should be laughing. You probably think I'm insane. That's what he said. He told me you'd say that I'm insane, that I'm nothing and worthless and-"

"Jess, stop. Please, don't say that. You're not worthless." Trish whispers, cutting her off and gently pulling her to her chest. Jessica complies, breathing in the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon.

She feels Trish's hand cup her face, gently moving it up so that she is meeting Trish's gaze. The warmth and concern and fucking love in her eyes makes her heart stop. Her breathing hitches, and Jessica freezes under the look. "I would never say that to you. You know that. You are not worthless."

"But, but he-" She tries, because she doesn't know what else to say. She doesn't know what else to do. All she can think is that this isn't how she thought it'd go.

"He was wrong, Jess." Trish says firmly, "he was completely wrong about everything. I don't think you're worthless. I think you're strongest, bravest person I have ever met."

"But-"

"Jessica," Trish says sharply, using her full name. Her tone is firm, and Jessica falls silent at the use. "I believe you."

The words are like a bomb against a dam, sharp and shattering whatever walls Jessica had thrown up to protect herself against the thought of rejection. Her eyes sting and she chokes on a sob as Trish pulls her closer.

"Trish-"

"Shh. It's okay, Jess." Trish breathes against her hair. Jessica feels Trish's fingers slide down her spine, gentle and soothing and Jessica leans into her, craving the warmth and gentleness that she's come to know of as Trish.

"I miss him." The words slip pass her lips before her mind has time to catch up to it. "I miss him so fucking much, Trish. I need him."

"Jess, look at me again, okay? Look at me." Trish whispers gently, moving to cup her cheek. Jessica complies, wondering what this is all about. "Did you want to go with him?"

The question catches her off guard, and Jessica falters, furrowing her brows and shifting slightly. She moves her mouth slightly, trying to think.

"No." She answers finally, after what feels like forever. "I-I didn't." The words are a struggle to force out.

_**'Come with me.'** _

"I didn't want to go with him." She continues, and watches Trish nod her head encouragingly.

"And, did you love him?" Trish continues, and Jessica twitches her fingers, reaching for Trish but not wanting to touch her. Her hand hovers between them before Trish moves to take it gently in her own hand.

"No. I didn't. I don't, but, Trish-"

"Jess, answer me plainly, okay? One word answers, don't think about it." Trish soothes gently, squeezing her hand.

"Okay." Jessica breathes, nodding her head. "Yeah, okay."

"Did you want to have sex with him?"

She answers instantly, she doesn't think, just answers. "No."

"Did you, yourself, of sound body and mind, consent to having sex with him?" Trish continues, and Jessica furrows her eyebrows.

"No." She whispers, her breathing picking up slightly. Her hands tremble, and Trish squeezes the hand in her own grip lightly.

"I'm right here, Jess, focus on me. Don't think about it. Do you remember what Dr. Young said? About grounding yourself?" Trish says gently, and Jessica nods her head wordlessly. "Okay, so tell them to me."

"Birch Street..." She gasps out, and watches Trish nod. "Main Street, Higgins Drive..." Trish nods encouragingly again. "Cobalt Lane." There's a brief pause, and Jessica nods her head to answer Trish's silent question if she's okay to go on.

"Did you, of sound mind and body, consent, to any of the things he did to you?" Trish asks after a pause.

"No."

_**'Don't be silly, Jessie. Of course you did. You said yes. You loved it.'** _

"Yes, I did. I-I-"

"Jessica, did you consent, or not? Tell me, if you said yes, of your own violation. Did you say yes?" Trish cuts in firmly, and Jessica moves her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out this time. She shakes her head mutely, and Trish pulls her close into her arms, cradling her against her chest.

"No." She chokes out after a pause, her voice ragged as another, unexpected sob raises in her throat. She chokes again, overwhelmed, gasping for air slightly her fingers reach up to grasp Trish, closing limply around her arms. "Trish, I can't-"

"Breathe, Jess, match my breathing. Remember the street names? Tell me the street names, okay?" Trish soothes gently, and Jessica struggles, fumbling for a few moments as she gasps weakly. Trish repeats the sentence, and Jessica hitches in a long breath before slowly exhaling, rasping out the street names after each breath.

"Good." Trish soothes. "Keep breathing with me, alright?" Jessica nods, following Trish's instructions.

They sit like that for a while, her breathing gets easier, and she slowly stops reciting the street names. Jessica isn't sure how much time passes, but it's after a few moments Trish gently brushes her cheek, dragging her out of whatever thoughts ran through her head.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Trish deflects, and Jessica nods her head silently. She drops her forehead onto Trish's shoulder.

"I'm tired." She says finally.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Trish offers, and it's a question, and invite to let Jessica decide, not _'Let's go to bed, Jessica.'_ or _'You're not tired, Jessica. Stay awake with me.'_

"No. I-I want to stay here." She answers quietly.

"Okay, we can stay here. Do you need anything?" Trish asks gently, and Jessica pauses. Words claw at her throat; _"I need you,"_ she thinks, but she doesn't dare say it.

"No." She whispers instead, burying her face into Trish's shoulder, breathing in the smell of vanilla and cinnamon that still clings to her clothes.

"Okay." Trish whispers, and Jessica feels the lightest of kisses against her temple. She doesn't say anything about it, and pretends not to notice the fluttering feeling in her gut.

She's not sure how long they sit like that, it feels like hours, and there's a brief moment of hesitation before she speaks again.

"He's dead."

"And how do you feel about that? You don't have to answer."

"Relieved, happy, but also sad though." She mumbles, and Trish rubs her back soothingly.

"How'd he die?"

"Bus crash... Saw him get hit. It was how I escaped." She answers, and Trish hums slightly. There's this urge to tell her, to tell Trish on what she did, that she killed someone-Reva Connors, she recalls faintly-but the thought of Trish pushing her away over that fact, is terrifying enough that she clamps her jaw down tight.

"So he's dead. He's not coming to get you. You're free from him." Trish murmurs lightly, her lips brushing her temple again.

"He's always here." Jessica mumbles back, tossing a limp hand up to make a vauge gesture towards her head. "He's never gone. Sonetimes, when your at work, I think I see him." She admits, twitching her head so that her nose brushes Trish's neck. "Sitting next to me on the couch."

"And, other times, I wake up, and I'm scared to open my eyes because I keep thinking that this is some fucked up dream or-or one of his fucked up mind control things." She continues, and Trish's hands slide up to cup her cheeks in her palms.

"I'm real, Jess. You're here, with me, in our apartment. You're not with him." Trish whispers, sliding her hands down to grab her wrists. Trish gently lifts them, letting Jessica cup her own face, as if to prove that she's real. Jessica shivers at the gentle touch, but she doesn't pull away.

"How do I know he's not telling you to say that? To convince me that you're real so I can drop my guard?" Jessica whispers, because there's still that tiny whisper in her head. That tiny whisper that none of this is real. It's all some sick, fucked up joke. Her fingers flex against Trish's cheek, twitching and jittery along her skin.

She wants to pull away.

"Do you want me to prove it?" Trish whispers, and Jessica opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She closes it, and nods slightly. "How? What's something he would never tell you to imagine?"

"I-I don't..." Jessica starts, flicking her eyes back and forth. She pauses, her eyes flicking down and then back up from Trish's lips to her eyes. If Trish notices the action, she doesn't say anything.

Jessica shifts, her thumbs just barely touching the corners of Trish's mouth. She shouldn't, she can't. Jessica shifts, parting her lips to speak, but the words are caught in her throat.

"What is it?" Trish prods gently, furrowing her brows together in slight confusion and concern.

"Kiss me." She breathes out before she can think more on it, and she sees Trish's eyebrows raise slightly. "I just, he'd never..." Jessica starts, but she trails off, shifting back slightly and dropping her hands. "Sorry, I shouldn't have..." She starts, standing up and shifting away. Her foots knocks the bottle she had dropped, kicking it under the coffee table. "I'm drunk. I don't know what I was saying." She brushes off, shifting back slowly. She turns away, about to leave, when-

"Wait, Jess..." Trish's hand reaches out, her fingers curling around her wrist. The touch makes her freeze, and Jessica stiffens. She's not sure what she expects to happen. Refusal? A begrudgingly welcoming okay? 

"I'll do it." Trish says, startling her.

"No, I shouldn't have-"

"Jess, if I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't have said yes."

Jessica pauses, she stares at Trish for a long time, slowly sliding her wrist free.

"Okay." She swallows, slowly sinking back down into the couch. "Are you sure?" She asks, but before she can get another word in, Trish's lips are pressed against her's lightly.

The kiss is slow, hesitant, and Jessica sucks in a sharp breath, her fingers raising up to cup Trish's face. There's that overwhelming scent of vanilla and cinnamon, soft and blanketing as Trish gently- _so, so gently_ -kisses her. It steals her breath, and she gasps slightly, desperately parting her lips for more.

They pull back, and Jessica sucks in a sharp breath. There's an instant regret in her gut, not over the kiss, but over the way she went about it. Trish is looking at her, silent and curious and concerned. There's a moment of silence, but instinct takes over.

"I need to go." She says before she can think better. Her only thought is run, get away before Trish realizes what she's done and hates her for it. 

She stands up, turning and rushing out of the door before Trish can even think of calling her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how many of you guys hate me now? :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry for the delay. This week has been hell for me, let's just say that.
> 
> On another note, this chapter didn't come out how I wanted at all. I'm not satisfied with it, and I feel like I'm losing steam in general. I'm not giving up on this fic though, don't you guys worry, I will complete this fic.
> 
> Anyways, on with the chapter.

Jessica does what every person would do after the kiss their best friend, already somewhat drunk, and instantly regret it.

She drinks. She tosses back shot after shot, trying to ignore the ugly, ugly thoughts in her head of _"god you're so stupid, Jessica." "Trish hates you now, you can't go back to her apartment now. She'll kick you out. She'll realize how stupid she was to believe you and kick you out." "Why did you even suggest that? Stupidstupidstupid."_

And then there's his voice whispering angrily in her head; _**'You're disgusting. You thought of me when you kissed her, didn't you? You're using her as second best. There's no one who will ever know you like I do. Not even Trish.'**_

_"It wasn't like that. I was... I needed... It's not like that at all."_

_"Stop indulging the ghost in your head, Jessica."_

She tosses back another shot, winching at the burn. She motions for another.

"Rough night?" The bartender asks, pouring another shot. He's old, balding, with a look of years of hearing people's shit backgrounds.

Jessica shrugs. "I kissed my best friend." She mumbles, not sure why she said it. She's drunk, too drunk to think clearly.

"Aye, that's something I haven't heard in a while." He says, cutting into her thoughts, and Jessica twitches her mouth up slightly at the attempt of humor. She tosses back the shot, struggling to differentiate between reality and whatever-the-fuck is going on in her head.

In way though, she wants too. She wants just let go from reality.

_**'You want this.'** _

But she doesn't want him to be her reality.

"Can I get a bottle of whiskey?" She asks abruptly, darting her tounge out to touch her lips. She needs something, she needs a distraction. The man nods his head, reaching for the bottle behind the counter and sliding it over to her. "Thanks." She mumbles, unscrewing the cap and pouring some into the glass.

"Don't mention it. Give me a shout if you need anything else." He says, and Jessica nods her head slightly.

He leaves her to her own devices, and Jessica takes a moment to glance around the bar. It's pretty shitty, she must admit. A few random drunks stumble in, hoping that bartender guy will serve them, but are quickly shot down and sent off.

It's quiet, she likes it. She tosses back another shot, exhaling slowly as she drops the glass onto the table.

Another shot follows that one, then three more, or she thinks it's three. Could be more. She doesn't exactly know.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She ignores it, and tosses back another shot.

"I think you've had enough." Her eyes slide up, she narrows them, a scowl pulling in her mouth.

"I can handle it." She mumbles, her fingers reaching for the bottle, but the bartender swipes it from her before she can grasp it.

"Look, do you have any friends you can call? Someone to take you home?" He asks, and there's a note of concern in his voice. The type that a grandfather would have for a grandchild. Jessica blinks, and her thoughts go straight to Trish.

"I don't wanna go home." She mumbles after that realization, staring at the wooden counter. Trish probably hates her now. "I don't have any friends, not anymore." She adds, before she can think, and she frowns as her brain tries to catch up.

"You got to go home at some point." He says, and Jessica glances up at him. "You can't stay here, I'm closing up for the night."

"It's only... ten o'clock." She mumbles, furrowing her brows as she thinks.

"More like one in the morning." The bartender corrects, and Jessica frowns, pulling out her phone to find three missed calls from Trish, a voicemail for each call, and maybe around ten texts.

She swipes them away, stares at the clock, blinking in confusion.

"Can't be..." She mumbles as she studies the time, which, sure enough, says one o'clock on it.

Jessica glances up from her phone, thinking distantly for a moment before she stands up, slipping her phone into her pocket. She staggers on her feet, tossing a few dollar bills on the table.

"Thanks." She says, shuffling out of the bar. She feels sick, her head hurts, and she feels like shit. Maybe she is shit. She's a shitty person who doesn't deserve to be best friends with Trish Walker.

_**'Pasty never loved you. I mean, she never answered your calls. She never realized something was wrong. If she was a true friend, she'd have realized something was wrong, wouldn't she?'** _

_"Maybe."_ She answers silently, sniffing slightly. She shouldn't be indulging in her hallucinations, but, maybe she deserves it?

 _"Okay now you're just being cruel to yourself, Jess."_ A voice answers, one that sounds a bit too much like Trish.

Jessica shakes her head, stumbling down the sidewalk, shoving her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brush the somewhat bent up pack of cigarettes she'd bought earlier into the night.

Her fingers stroke the pack, swallowing hard against the desire to light one. Tobacco and alcohol never go well together. She might be drunk, and a bit stupid, but she's not _that_ stupid. She doesn't want to wake with an even worse hangover.

She rips her hands from her pockets, letting them dangling down at her sides. She should go home, after all, Trish is probably-hopefully-asleep now. She could avoid confrontation until tomorrow at least.

God, she is such a fucking coward.

Jessica sighs, rubbing a hand across her eyes hard. _"Fuck."_ She thinks dimly, shivering in the February chill. Her fingers tug her jacket tighter around her, and she quickly starts in the direction of home before she can think better of it.

\--

Trish can't sleep, and it's not that she even wants to try right now. The thought of sleeping makes her anxious, and it's not like the thoughts that swirl in her head wild let her anyways.

_"What if Jess comes home and doesn't have a key? What if she gets hurt? Or thrown in jail?"_

Trish shakes her head, stands up, paces to the kitchen, and grabs a glass of water.

She takes a small sip, rubbing her temples and glancing at her phone.

Nothing. No calls, no texts. Trish unlocks it and scrolls through her contacts again, about to call Jessica until a knock rings through the door.

Trish stands up sharply, and she doesn't remember moving to the door, just that she's suddenly in front of it. Her fingers brush the handle, and she pulls open to find Jessica standing outside her door.

"Jess-"

She cuts off, moves her mouth to speak, but Jessica shakes her head.

"Don't, Trish. I fucked up."

"Come inside, Jess, okay?" Trish says, giving a firm shake of her head. She sees Jessica flinch slightly, it's a miniscule movement, but she obeys nonetheless.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"We can talk about it when your sober."

"No, Trish, I'm fucking sick of you-" Jessica cuts off, staggers back away from her, and her mouth twists into an ugly expression. Like she wants to say something but doesn't want to at the same time. "I don't need you to baby me."

"I'm not-"

"Fuck, Trish," Jessica starts, and she sounds expressed. "I--"

"Jess, you weren't thinking straight, alright? That's all." Trish cuts off firmly, and she watches as Jessica moves her mouth slightly.

"You can't just-" She starts, and Trish watches her face twist, clearly trying to put what she wants to say to words. "-brush this off. I... I didn't-"

"I know you didn't." Trish cuts in, because she knows. "I know you didn't mean it like that." She adds softly, and reaches out to touch her shoulder. Jessica recoils, as if Trish's touch would burn her if she came into contact. "Jess..."

"I'm, I'm moving out." She blurts out, and Trish shifts in surprise. She tenses abruptly. There's a brief stab of hurt in her gut, of fear, because she feels that Jess isn't ready to be on her own. Not yet.

"Jess, I don't think-"

"Trish, please. I need to do this, alright? I, I have been thinking about it for a while." Trish glances down briefly, her mouth pulled into a slight frown. "I still need to find an apartment, but, I think I've found an area." She continues, seeming to have sobered up some. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize." Trish says, almost instinctively. "I understand why, I just... I'm scared for you."

"You don't need to be, Trish." Jessica reaches out, and her fingers touch her shoulder before she pulls back sharply.

"Just... promise me something, alright? Promise you'll try to call at points? I don't want you to shut me out. The kiss doesn't change anything." Trish whispers, and she looks up, meeting her gaze firmly. There's a brief pause before Jessica nods her head.

"Yeah, I'll try."

\--

It's a tiny pin prick in his ribs that wakes him. Little dots of pain scattered throughout the lower section of his chest, sharp and burning as he breathes.

He sucks in another breath, sharp and quick through his nose, he holds, the pain returns, and he exhales, the pain lessens. He repeats, keeping his eyes closed, his fingers twitching against the soft, expensive silk sheets.

There's a soft flutter of movement at his side, a brush of air and the sound of fabric brushing together. A floorboard creaks under a foot, low and groaning against his hearing.

"Stop." He rasps out, voice gruff with sleep, and opens his eyes to meet a woman's gaze, frozen stiff and wild eyed at his command. "Get me a cup of coffee. Now." He adds offhandedly, "oh, and, give me the knife." He raises his hand, palm up, fingers fluttering in an impatient _'give me'_ motion.

The woman moves, she passes the blade clutched in her hand, dropping it down into his palm, handle towards him. He inspects it, studying the metal with a curious look.

"What were you planning to do with this?" He asks casually, his voice low and calm, and the woman stops at the doorway. "Tell the truth." He adds, slowly pushing himself up. The pain is back, pricking his skin and he grits his teeth.

"Kill you." The woman whispers, her voice shaky and unsettled. He arches an eyebrow, swinging his legs carefully over the edge of the bed.

"Oh how dull, did you honestly think that would work? Stab me in the jugular while I'm asleep?" He grits out, and the woman shakes her head. He sighs, drags his fingers down his face, and points to the door. "Leave. Go on. I'm done with you." He orders briskly.

The door clicks shut on command a second later. He clicks his tounge, slowly forcing himself to his feet. There's a stiffness in his bones, a pain in his ribs and chest that blinds him for a moment. He flashes out a hand, grasps the bedside table, and hisses out a breath through his teeth.

"Damn it." He curls an arm around his ribs, cradling the still healing surgical wounds. The bruises have mostly faded by now, and the cracks in his ribs are still on the mend, but are almost completely healed.

It's his bloody kidneys he's worried about.

He waits a moment, sucking in air through his teeth, as the pain subsides to a dull ache.

He exhales, steps towards the bathroom, and shuts the door behind him.

His eyes meet his reflection in the mirror. He looks horrible, for his standards. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair, and his fingers scratch at the week old stubble along his jaw. He twists his face in disgust, and shuffles to the sink, turning the faucet on.

The water is cold against his fingers, and he quickly splashes his face, reaching for the razor on the end of the marble sink. The movement twinges his ribs, and he sucks in a breath, curling in on himself.

"Fuck." He gasps, slowly lowering himself down onto the lowered toilet seat. "God fucking damn it." His fist hits the counter lightly, frustration burning in his chest. He shivers, swallowing as he sucks in one breath, then another, and he repeats until the pain dulls again.

His fingers fly out, ripping open the medicine and cabinet. He fumbles blindly, unable to turn to see what he's doing, and cursing when he doesn't find the orange bottle. He shifts, grunting as pain shoots up his spine, a dull, pulsing ache in the back of his neck-

_**"Quiet down, Kevin, this is for your own good."** _

His fingers find the bottle, and he pulls it to him, twisting the lid off and popping out the right amount. Swallowing them dry, he exhales slowly. His adam apple bobs with the motion, and he gasps as the pain dulls again.

His fingers twitch, curling around the pill bottle, the edge of the lid biting into his palm.

_The needles are always the worse part, Kevin thought, watching his father's assistant ready the sharp pointed metal. The spinal taps. They hurt, they burned. What had he done to deserve this? Did mummy and daddy not love him enough? Had he done something bad and this was his punishment?_

His breathing spikes, heart pulses in his ears, and the anguished cries of his ten year old self deafen him. His fingers raise, clapping over the sides of his head. The pill bottle clatters to the tiled floor, bouncing before rolling to the other end of the room.

"Shut up!" He nearly shouts, loud and commanding. It echoes off the walls of the bathroom, bouncing around him.

Silence. The child in his head obeys.

It's not often, he muses, that he gets nightmares; or whatever they're called. He never wakes up screaming for mummy and daddy, he never wakes up in a cold sweat unable to breathe, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Kilgrave likes to put it behind him. He holds a grudge, yes. Would be delighted to tell his dear, loving parents to go flake their skin off piece by piece, should the chance ever arise, but, he can live without doing so.

It'd take to much effort to find them anyways. To much precious time wasted that he could be using for better things.

He pushes himself up, reaching for the razor again, and carefully setting to work on the stubble.

He finishes quickly, and his bare feet slap against the tile as he walks out, onto the hardwood flooring in the bedroom.

He hums, clicks his tounge softly before running it over his teeth. He hates the waiting, the healing process, because he's _bored_.

He wants to go out and find Jessica.

_Rage, burning and hot. How dare she disobey an order, then the bus._

He blinks, absently rubs his side, before he sits back down on the bed.

His phone buzzes, a text, and he raises an eyebrow at the words with a slow smile.

 **Sent at 8:30:** _She got the documents. She knows._

He smiles wider, a flash of teeth, satisfied, and darkens the screen.

Slowly, he rolls his shoulders, sliding back down onto the bed. The mattress creaks just slightly as he stretches out.

Just the short trip to the bathroom has left him exauhsted. As much as he'd like to go out and find her, the pain is stopping him.

But soon, once he recovers, he will.


End file.
